Her Father's Daughter
by Keralai Worthward
Summary: Set eight years after the events of Dragon Age: Origins. Join our intrepid member of Denerim's City Guard, Keralai Worthward, as her life is thrown into turmoil by a chance encounter with a famous Grey Warden or two...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N **Sometimes seemingly ordinary people can be caught up in extraordinary events.

This is the first time I have shared my ramblings publicly, and also my first attempt at writing in first person viewpoint, so it has been an interesting and somewhat nerve wracking challenge. Reviews are welcome, of course, but please be gentle with this fanfic virgin ;)

I have set this eight years after the events of DA:O, and always thought it would be fun to explore the story of a 'bit player'.

A caveat or two: Whilst I have played Origins, Awakenings and DA:2, I haven't read any of the Dragon Age books or played the DLC, so if I am unintentionally stomping all over canon, then my heartfelt apologies. It's certainly not my intention to abuse the in-depth lore that Bioware have lovingly created for us to play with.

That said, I hope you, dear reader, find my ramblings enjoyable in their own right :)

Obviously Bioware owns Ferelden, Thedas and all contained within.

**Chapter One**

The tap room of The Honest Politician was bustling, patrons filled every table and were piled three deep at the bar, pressed against the walnut, polished to a warmly glowing sheen and trimmed in gleaming brass, clamouring good naturedly for the attentions of the harried bar staff. I had squeezed my way to the front of the press and exchanged friendly banter with the barkeep, teasing him about his lack of haste. He gave me an indulgent smile along with mugs nigh overflowing with the dark, foamy ale for which the tavern was famed. I nodded my thanks, making sure to slip him a generous tip alongside the payment to ensure I didn't wait long for my next refill.

I slipped away from the bar, another body immediately shifting to fill the place I had just vacated.

Blowing a wayward strand of wavy hair away from my eyes, I paused as another of the tavern's regulars waved a greeting. I grinned in his direction and inclined my head, unable to return his wave without throwing ale all over myself and my fellow customers. I tightened my grip on the wooden handles of the mugs and started back towards my table. I halted abruptly, as a powerfully built figure moved to block my way.

I glanced up, a frown of irritation creasing my brow. The intense hazel eyes that met my gaze stopped the brusque words before they left my lips. The man took my hesitation for invitation and stepped closer to me, My heart sank as my eyes took in the rest of him. Unkempt mousy hair, several days worth of stubble, dark smudges beneath those uncommonly arresting eyes and a slightly glazed look that indicated he was already well into his cups. I prepared to state my lack of interest firmly, but didn't completely dismiss him. He was tall and broad shouldered, but he didn't have the usual bulk I associated with habitual drinkers. Oh he was big enough, but he was lean, trim, no excess flesh to form jowls around his face or hang over his belt.

"Evening m'lady," he greeted me, a small smile curved his lips, his words slightly slurred from the alcohol he had consumed.

"Not interested," I stated tersely, and moved to sidestep him so I could continue back to my seat.

He reached out and placed a large, scarred palm on my arm, not roughly but firmly enough that I stopped and glared at his hand, then moved my glare slowly up to his eyes.

"You obviously haven't been coming here for very long," I said, calmly, though I knew that my green eyes were seething at his uninvited touch. "So I'll tell you nicely, now, what everyone else here knows already. I do not get grabbed. Ever. By anyone."

His hand dropped away from my arm, his brow slightly furrowed, as if confused.

"Oh come on love, I just want a bit of company..."

_Fucking drunks!_ I swore to myself. Even on my night off, I didn't get a break from them.

"Oh in that case, excuse me whilst I swoon at your feet. Look, I'll ask you politely, one more time to piss off and leave me alone, before I turn nasty," I snarled at him.

I really didn't want to be carting another wine-soaked lout off to the Guard House, especially not on my night off.

Last time I'd pulled that little stunt, the lads on duty had laughed themselves insensible for a week and had made certain that _everyone_ knew I'd arrested some daft sot for grabbing my arse in a tavern.

This one was either not as addled as he appeared, or was smarter than your average tavern dwelling lothario. He backed off, his hands raised in a placatory gesture, an almost sheepish smile on his lips.

Shooting one last dark, warning glare in his direction, I headed for my table once more, shaking my head at the bouncer who had started towards me, a wry smirk on his face – don't misunderstand, the bouncer hadn't been rushing to my rescue to defend my honour, he had been getting ready to stop the drunk from being too badly hurt if I'd lost my temper.

It wasn't the first time I'd had to give a man the brush off in this tavern, often much more forcefully. Some men really do not know how to take "No" for an answer. So I had to teach one or two that when the lady almost breaks your arm, it's generally a hint that she isn't interested.

Word eventually gets around of course, so it had been some time since anyone had bothered me.

I wended my way through the crowded public bar. I've always maintained that there's an art to moving through a crowded space, particularly a pub, you just have to know how to gauge people. Some will respond to a tap on the back and a polite word, at the other end of the scale you have the obstinate ass that won't move for anything short of an elbow to the kidneys. I squeezed, dodged, cajoled and shoved my way through, as appropriate.

The Honest Politician was the largest tavern in Denerim, as well as offering some of the finest ales in Ferelden. Tables of various sizes filled the spacious public taproom, all the same highly polished walnut as the bar, some large enough to seat ten or more, others far smaller - designed for two and tucked away in intimate little nooks. Regardless of size, every table was surrounded with solid, extremely well padded and comfortable seating. Once they'd hooked you with the ale and the atmosphere, they were determined to reel you in with the comfort and camaraderie. Arriving at my table, I set the mugs down on the dark wooden surface with a dull thud, then flopped into my seat with a drawn-out sigh.

"Next round's on you," I stated.

My companion grinned across the table at me.

"You can't really blame the poor sod, my dear. Look in the mirror occasionally. You are a particularly toothsome morsel, Keralai Worthward."

He leered at me dramatically, an expression that looked incredibly strange on his devastatingly handsome face.

Crispian had a perfect smile, set in a perfectly dark-complexioned face, with perfect glossy dark brown hair hanging over his perfect black eyes.

He was possibly the only man in Ferelden that could talk to me in such a manner without being forcibly fed his own teeth. I knew he was only joking, because I was completely and utterly the wrong gender to attract his genuine carnal attentions.

I snorted in a most un-ladylike fashion.

"At least he took the hint quickly."

Crispian smiled at me, shook his head at my dismissal of the man and took a long pull from his mug. He smacked his lips with pleasure – the ale in the Honest Politician really was very good. Leaning back with a satisfied sigh, he went on.

"Actually, he was much better looking than the usual class of drunk. Maybe I should see if I can... Soothe his damaged pride."

I stuck my tongue out at him.

"I don't think he was _that_ drunk, Crisp."

" Bitch!" Crispian gasped in response to my jibe.

" Hussy!" I retorted.

"Ice Queen!"

"Floozy!"

We both burst into laughter.

"Makers breath, Crisp, I must have had more to drink than I realised. You were actually funny," I said, my tone deliberately teasing.

He knew me too well to be offended by my casual insults. He winked at me and we resumed our previous conversation, which I had interrupted to go fetch our drinks.

Crisp was imparting the latest piece of juicy court gossip that he had picked up from one of the wealthy clients of his successful smithy, where he and his journeymen crafted the finest arms and armour for the great and the good of Ferelden. The usual buzz of background noises – other conversations, drinks being drained, the strumming of the bard in the corner near the fireplace and money clinking on the wood of the bar – were precipitantly interrupted by voices raised in anger and the crash of furniture being overturned.

My head came up immediately and I cast about, looking for the source of the commotion.

"You know Ker, you don't have to wade in and save the day. You are off duty after all. Let someone else worry about it," Crisp piped up, his exasperation obvious.

I don't think he seriously thought for a moment that I'd heed his advice though. Seeing my determined expression, he sighed, deep and heartfelt, waved his hands at me in a shooing motion and concentrated on his ale.

I weaved my way past tables, chairs and other patrons, arriving quickly at the scene of the altercation. Two men were shouting and gesticulating at each other – I noted the overturned chair next to the table, which must have been the cause of the crash that had caught my attention, an ale mug lay forgotten on the table, on its side in a pool of ale. What a bloody waste.

I was surprised to see that one of the would-be combatants was my would-be suitor, standing facing in my direction, whilst the other had his back to me.

His face was a mottled, angry red beneath his scruffy stubble and shaggy hair, his expression scornful as he narrowed those hazel eyes and yelled into the face of the other man.

"You can take your platitudes and shove them up your arse! Wasn't it clue enough when I left you to rot?"

Noticing the curious stares he had attracted from virtually the entire tavern, his voice dropped into a furious hiss.

"I want nothing from you!"

I knew that if I was going to step in and try to calm things down before the situation managed to get completely out of hand, this was the moment. I could have left the two bouncers to sort things out – they were handy enough lads. But, well, they're called bouncers for a reason... Fine for cracking heads and tossing people into the street, but far more likely to escalate to violence than actually placate anyone.

On the move again, I fished my Guard insignia from my pocket and holding it aloft, I insinuated myself between the two men before the other had a chance to respond.

My drunk 'friend' seemed suddenly a great deal more sober as he glared at me, his eyes blazing with his nigh-incandescent rage.

"City Guard," I declared, looking sternly at each man in turn.

"Now gentlemen, this is supposed to be my night off, so right at the very bottom of my plans for the evening is breaking up a bloody bar room brawl." I jerked my head at the bouncers, who were hovering nearby with billy-clubs held in plain view, their already simian faces set into intimidating scowls.

I returned my attention to the combatants, matching their hot anger with icy chill.

"If you insist on being at each other's throats, do me a favour and take it outside. This screaming match is doing nothing for the ambience."

Hazel eyes glinted as the ... well, the not-so-drunk replied in tones fairly dripping with contempt, "No need for your concern, 'Officer'. I was just leaving. The atmosphere in this place just turned to shit."

Biting back hot words – it would only make matters worse if I gave into the sudden, strong urge to deck the fool myself – I stood back to allow him to pass. He shoved past me then shouldered the other man aside roughly.

The oaken door which served as main entrance to the inn slammed shut behind him, quivering on its hinges.

I stared after him, eyebrows raised in surprise. The door was three inches of solid oak, the hinges were thick wrought iron. It would have taken some strength to set that lot shuddering like some flimsy shutter in a thunderstorm.

I turned to find the other man staring at me with cold, pale blue eyes.

"Problem?" I asked, raising an eyebrow in his direction.

He let out a long, slow breath, visibly deflating as the air left his body.

"No Miss. I apologise for the disruption to your evening. It seems I have made a pointless journey and wasted a good deal of time in the process. Still... I don't know what else I really expected."

As his voice trailed off, it seemed to me that the man was talking to himself more than anything or anyone else, as if he'd forgotten my presence as the words began to leave his lips.

Remembering himself, he shook his head, bobbed a brief and shallow bow in my direction, turned on his heel and left the inn, almost as abruptly as his antagonist. I must admit to a great deal of surprise at his small show of courtesy. Bowing wasn't something I saw much of, as a Guard.

Intrigued despite myself, my eyes lingered on the closed door for a few moments, as I stood, deep in thought.

I never could resist a mystery (a handy trait in my line of work) and Maker knew, there was a mystery brewing here. I could feel it in my bones.

But, with the men departed and the potential dust-up successfully averted, there was no need for further action on my part. I shrugged and returned to Crispian.

He pouted at me as I settled into my cushioned seat at the table once more.

"I can't say that I think much of the entertainment. No blood, no flying teeth, no broken bones. Standards are dropping around here. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're going soft, Ker."

When I said nothing, he leaned forward, all eager attentiveness as he tried to extract tantalising gossip from me.

"What was all that about?"

"Buggered if I know," I retorted.

Crisp drank another swig of ale and scowled,

"Foul mouthed harridan."

I grinned at him, knowing that my face was almost vulpine with the expression as I carefully enunciated my retort,

"Fucking drunk."

* * *

><p>I woke slowly and reluctantly, light pouring through the open window, seeming to lance directly into my brain with hot, pointy needles of pain. My head throbbed in protest.<p>

I attempted to lick my parched lips and failed miserably as I realised that my mouth felt as dry and unused as a Chantry sister's nether regions.

Groaning, I heaved myself out of bed, my limbs heavy and sluggish. I stumbled my way out of the bedroom door, down the blessedly dim hallway and through to the pantry. Taking a mug from the shelf beside the sink, I poured myself some water, drained it in two gulping swallows then poured another, sipping it more slowly. The water was cool, fresh and delightful on my desiccated tongue. It tasted like it had just been drawn from the well mere minutes before.

Blight take that blasted Crispian! I was placing blame for this hangover squarely on his perfect shoulders.

After I'd broken up the argument the previous evening, my mood was well and truly soured. I was all for calling it a night and heading home. Crisp, on the other hand, was having none of my recalcitrance. He told me firmly that we had gone out so I could let my hair down, so down my hair was going whether I liked it or not.

He decided that just the thing to revive my flagging spirits was a few bottles of potent, vintage Orlesian red. I was only too happy to oblige him once he made the suggestion. A decent Orlesian wine tasted like heaven on the tongue.

Unfortunately, I was reminded now of the old adage about mixing the grape and the grain. And how it was a bloody terrible idea.

The night had ended with us weaving our meandering and drunken way back to Crisp's smart home in the merchant district, where I had proceeded to pass out cold in his guest room.

I'm convinced that there is a corner of the Fade dedicated to a particular kind of sinner, where damnation comes in the form of enduring a red wine hangover for all eternity.

My head pounded and my stomach churned in agreement with my gloomy sentiment.

A particularly noisome corner.

A startled voice interrupted my reverie.

"Oh Mistress, I'm so sorry, I had no idea there was anyone about!"

I stopped wallowing in my alcohol induced misery for a moment, to see one of Crisp's servants backing towards the door, a shocked expression on his face. I'd forgotten about the hired help.

Momentarily confused by the man's consternation, I looked down at myself to realise I'd staggered out of bed wearing my knickers and not much else.

"Sorry!" I called after the servant as he fled the room in embarrassment.

Shrugging, I took my mug back to the guest room with me.

* * *

><p>Several hours later, washed, dressed, fed, much apologised to by a contrite Crispian and feeling much recovered from my hangover, I reported to the Guard House for duty.<p>

Fortunately for me, I had drawn the easy shift for the next few days – Afternoon and evening.

The majority of Denerim's resident thieves and whores wouldn't come out to play until well into the night shift.

The Guard divvied the day up into three eight hour shifts. Noon until eight in the evening, eight until four in the morning, then four through to noon.

We rotated the shifts between ourselves as fairly as possible, changing on a weekly basis so no one was stuck with the really shitty stints for an extended period. Although there were a few mad bastards that actually preferred the night shift – the rest of us were more than happy to indulge their insanity.

The desk sergeant greeted me as I entered. He was a grizzled Guard veteran named Cobb, his face tanned a deep, nut brown, and seamed with lines and wrinkles, surmounted by shaggy white brows that almost eclipsed his eyes entirely. Semi-retired, he was mostly a desk man at that point, getting a bit too long in the tooth to go chasing after cut purses and pickpockets in the Market District. He was still tough as old boots though.

"Ah, Miss Worthward. Still punctual as ever I see," his voice was deep, resonant, almost commanding and betrayed no hint of his encroaching years.

I grinned and waved in response, heading for the locker room.

I opened my wooden locker, donned my woollen gambeson, mail hauberk, chausses and bracers over the simple dark red under shirt and leggings that were the base of the Watchmen's uniform. I carefully stowed my pack in the locker, then closed and locked the door. The mail was decent enough, though worn and repaired in places. It was second hand, having been altered to fit my more diminutive frame by the Guard's smith. The symbol of the Guard was engraved on a shield shaped steel plate and riveted to the upper right side, sitting above my breast. The bracers were leather with steel plates. Simple, but they did the job.

I strapped on my sword belt and sheathe and went to retrieve my sword from the armoury. I always wore a long dagger on my hip and another, smaller dagger secreted in my boot, even when off duty. A single, unescorted woman needed some protection in Denerim.

I opened the secure cabinet in the armoury and selected my weapon. The blade was my own, personal weapon, not Guard issue and as such, my fellow Guardsmen knew better than to borrow or even touch it when I was not present. The last one to try it had been sent home by the duty Captain with a badly broken nose.

Did I mention that I don't share particularly well?

It had been a gift from Crispian upon my induction into the Guard some eight years prior, crafted by his own fair hand. It was a true sign of his generous spirit and his staggering skill. The ironwood short sword was finely crafted, exquisitely balanced, strong, and surprisingly light for such an item.

I treasured it.

I shook back my hair, pinning it at the nape of my neck, to keep it out of my face, and to make it harder for anyone to grab hold of and try to use as leverage.

My hair was my one small vanity, though I allowed it to grow only a little way past my chin. It fell in thick, luxuriant waves and was a shade of auburn so dark, it almost appeared black, but glowed with soft burgundy highlights, set off by my vivid green eyes which in turn contrasted with my olive skin.

You may wonder how a woman, never mind an attractive one, could get along in the Guard. It's really quite simple. By being better than the men. There was no point in aiming to be equals, the men hadn't accepted me until I had proved I was tougher than the lot of them, despite my gender. I had carefully cultivated my reputation for fiery temper and for being predisposed to knock heads first and ask questions later, though what the men thought of as outbursts of temper where usually the result of cool calculation.

I was not big, even by women's standards, leaning more towards petite and pretty. My fellow Guard officers had stopped noticing my femininity long ago, much to my relief. The occasional newbie might try his luck, which invariably ended in much amusement for the other Guardsmen and much embarrassment for the unfortunate chauvinist.

Guardsmen always patrolled in pairs, at least, and at that point, I was partnered with a relatively new officer. In my eight year tenure I had worked my way up to Sergeant, and was usually entrusted with showing new recruits the ropes.

I picked up Jacob outside the armoury. He was a tall lad, his slender physique was athletic without seeming skinny. I'd observed him running down a pickpocket a few days before, one moment he'd been standing next to me, the next he had exploded into motion, halfway across the square and nearly on top of the unsuspecting thief before anyone else knew what was happening. He moved like greased lightening, reflexes faster than any I'd seen before, including my own.

Blonde haired and blue eyed, he had an open, honest face and looked far too fresh and shiny and new to be a Guardsman, but he was taking to the job like a duck to water.

He had an excellent way with people and a knack for talking down a potentially violent situation without any need for physical force.

We had interrupted an altercation a fortnight back when we were on the night shift, the two men had been ready to draw steel on each other and go toe-to-toe. By the time Jacob had finished with them, they had been smiling, shaking hands and ready to go their separate, peaceful ways. I had been truly amazed.

Personally, I would have been quite amenable to bashing their fool heads together and sorting it out back at the Guard house - a night in the cells was usually enough to cool even the hottest temper- but Jacob's method certainly saved us some time and trouble.

He smiled and bade me good afternoon.

I returned his smile, greeting him warmly and asking after his family.

I always made it a point to get to know my recruits, their background, home life, family and anything else they cared to share with me. It seemed to help them settle in and feel like they truly belonged in the Guard. We always look out for our own.

We wandered out of the Guard House into the afternoon sunshine.

"Where to today then, Chief?" Jacob asked, deferring to me easily, as usual. He had no issues with taking his orders from a woman. Sometimes I wondered if it even occurred to him. He simply saw a more experienced and competent member of the Guard, someone to look to for leadership and guidance as he learned his way around the job.

I considered for a moment where we might be best put to use

"We've had reports of some nasty, violent muggings Dockside. Worse than usual, even. People have handed over their valuables without protest, but still given a thorough hiding. They nearly beat one girl to death. Raped her too. Five of the bastards. She was in a right state when her father came to tell us about finding her, we weren't able to interview her and find out what had happened to her for another three days, it took that long for the poor lass to regain consciousness," I replied

Jacob's nose wrinkled with distaste at the thought of such brutal and unnecessary violence.

Dockside was the roughest area of Denerim, but that had been really bad, even by those standards. The Guard Commander had decided to up the presence of patrolling officers until the perpetrators were caught and things calmed down.

"I want to stop by the Honest Politician on the way through," I continued, "There was nearly a spot of bother in there last night. Had to step in and make sure it didn't get too far out of hand"

Jacob frowned at me.

"I didn't realise you were on duty last night?"

I smiled ruefully.

"I wasn't."

"No rest for the wicked then, Ker."

"Too bloody right," I replied, laughing.

* * *

><p>Randall, the landlord and owner of the Honest Politician had no further incident to report, thankfully.<p>

In fact, he had told me of his surprise that the young man with the hazel eyes had gotten himself involved in any kind of row.

"He's normally a quiet and affable enough chap. Comes in regular, two or three nights a week these last couple of months. Drinks his fair share, but not over-much, tips well, polite if a bit cheeky with the serving girls. Doesn't bother anyone really. Oh, he'll try and engage some of the prettier patrons in conversation, which he usually manages without too much effort... Present company excepted of course," he added, with a grin, knowing my usual response to any overtures. Someone had obviously told him about the man's attempt to approach me.

"Seems to have a bit of a thing for red-heads now that I think of it," he continued, with a quick wink, "Never goes home with anyone though, despite a bit of idle flirting, never tries to bed any of the girls. Probably could do if he was of a mind. Between me, you and the barstool, he's not a bad looking sort, and certainly doesn't seem short of a few coppers."

I arched a dark red brow at him.

"I'm not after a character witness Randall, I just wanted to check up on the place, and on you."

Randall huffed at my scolding.

"I know that Ker. Just weird is all. That other fellow must have done some serious wrong to the lad to get him riled up so badly.

"I've seen him smile and bow at that old sot Seth, even after he called the lad a fatherless whoreson for sitting in his favourite chair."

That titbit had surprised me. Seth was a harmless enough, if foul tempered old bastard, but that little insult could easily have earned him a black eye or worse from many people.

"You're a shameless gossip, Randall, but I'll keep it in mind. Maybe I'll go a little easier on him myself, next time I encounter him."

* * *

><p>Jacob and I were patrolling the winding streets of dockside with a measured, confident tread. I didn't expect to see a great deal at that time of day, but we projected an air of easy self assurance, making it clear that we were no simple marks for anyone. We were watchful and alert, in any case.<p>

Most of the criminal underclass had developed a healthy respect for the Guard.

Since the blight had ended just under eight years ago and Queen Anora had ascended the throne, she had steadily increased the Guard budget, having seen for herself the impact that rampant crime had on the population just prior to the final battle. Riots and unrest had nearly torn the city apart before the darkspawn even set foot in it.

I had been a green recruit barely three months into the job, thrown into the thick of it all to sink or swim as my abilities dictated. There had been next to no training, no guidance and the equipment provided had been so bloody shoddy that I'd simply eschewed it and used my own. Since then, we'd doubled our numbers of patrolling officers, and combat and weapons training, as well as the equipment with which we were outfitted had improved exponentially.

Our boys (and more recently, a few girls like myself) could handle themselves and a weapon a great deal better than your common garden variety of thug and miscreant.

As a result, crime in Denerim had been severely reined in. The only really unsafe places for the average, law abiding citizen to walk the streets at night, were Dockside, and - for the Humans - the Alienage (though even that was safe enough for the Elves). Most Humans avoided the Alienage, however, knowing their uncertain reception. So it really gave us little trouble to speak of.

We turned a corner onto a wider thoroughfare which ran parallel to the docks themselves. The road was lined with warehouses to store the goods that were brought to Denerim by boat from all the corners of Ferelden and beyond, mostly from the Human lands of Orlais and Antiva, though our markets could boast wares brought overland from Orzammar, home of the Dwarves We even saw the occasional Dalish Elf trader.

As we continued our way along the Dock road, I espied a young woman heading in our direction in quite a hurry. I elbowed Jacob surreptitiously and we came to a stop as the woman reached us, breathing a little heavily from her haste.

She was clearly distraught, her youthful features pale, her brown eyes too wide with shock, wringing her trembling hands. She can't have been any older than sixteen.

"Oh Sers, thank the Maker! You have to come and help, I'm so glad I found the Guard, I didn't know what to do, I didn't want to leave him in case someone else came across him, but I couldn't just sit there, that'd be no good at all," her tone was pleading, desperate, so I gently interrupted her rambling, exchanging a glance with Jacob as I did.

"Miss, it's okay, you're all right. You've found the Guard now, and we'll help you, but you need to calm yourself and tell us what's going on."

She nodded, and took several deep breaths, gulping the air into her lungs and visibly attempting to compose herself.

"I've found someone... He.. I think," she hesitated before plunging on, the next words coming out in a rush, as if she was eager to be rid of them, "I think he's dead, Mistress."

My heart sank, and I knew my face was grim at the prospect of investigating a corpse. Maker knew, but violence and death never became easy things to deal with, despite the fact that I was adept at it.

I gestured for her to lead us onward.

She nodded abruptly, the gesture jerky and unnatural, then turned and started back the way she had come, with Jacob and I close behind her. Stopping next to a warehouse, she glanced over her shoulder, I think to make sure that we were still following, then slipped into the alley that ran alongside the large storage building. Hesitating once more, she pointed a shaking finger behind a pile of empty packing crates, stacked up to lean haphazardly against the warehouse wall.

"He's behind there Mistress, I was cutting through on my way back to my Da's from market, and there he was..." her voiced trailed off into silence as I peered around the crates.

Sure enough there he lay, most definitely a corpse, there was no doubt about it.

He was lying on his back, his eyes open and staring up into the bright blue sky. His face was beaten and bloody, his clothes torn and stained with blood and dirt. The skin that showed beneath the caked filth was waxen and pale. Oh, someone had not pulled their punches, that was certain, and must have used a bludgeon or club to help inflict the kind of damage the poor creature had endured.

I moved in for a closer look, trying to kneel down beside the corpse to see if I could locate the death blow, though I was suspecting that his skull had simply been staved in by the violent force of the attack on his person.

I crouched, balancing myself with an outstretched palm against the warehouse wall, looking down into the poor bastard's face, I saw blue eyes, several shades lighter than the sky they could no longer comprehend, open and glassily blind in death.

I started in shock, gaping at the man now, disbelieving.

"What's wrong?" Jacob asked, alarmed at my reaction. Whilst unpleasant, it was hardly as if this was the first corpse I had examined in a stinking Dockside alley.

I shook my head and replied quietly, thoughtful now and subdued.

"I know him."


	2. Chapter 2

The tap room of The Honest Politician was no where near as crowded as it had been the previous evening, thank the Maker, but was still bustling enough. I experienced no undue trouble finding a free table, and took a small one, near the fireplace, on the opposite side to where the minstrel sat strumming a popular tune on his lute, slowly picking the notes from the strings with practised ease.

I sat, relaxing into the heavily padded chair holding my glass of wine loosely in one hand. I took a slow, savouring sip.

That Orlesian red was really, very good.

A number of the regulars were known to me and some few exchanged pleasantries with me, and remarked on my appearance.

I tolerated the remarks with much more grace and patience than I usually have with such things, due to the simple fact that I knew I looked much different to usual. I was wearing a dress, which is a rare enough occurrence to warrant a remark or two. I looked... well... ladylike.

My hair was freshly washed and had dried into soft waves framing my face, gleaming copper and burgundy in the warm light shed by the various lanterns and candles dotted around the walls of the inn and on the tables themselves.

The afore-mentioned dress was a vibrant, emerald green velvet and matched the colour of my eyes almost perfectly. The quality of the cloth was exquisite and though the cut was simple, it complimented my figure well.

The plunging V – shaped neckline was low enough to draw the occasional appreciative glance but not so low as to appear tawdry.

It had, of course, been a gift from Crispian. Guardsmen's wages did not stretch so far as to allow me to purchase velvet gowns. I think he derived a perverse pleasure from presenting me with such a delicately feminine item.

I was quite comfortably ensconced, when my eye was caught by a man entering the inn, he wandered around the tables and up to the bar, greeting the bar maid warmly and ordering a drink. It took me a few moments to recognise him, but once I did, I realised it was my hazel eyed 'friend'.

To my surprise, he had cleaned himself up quite considerably since the previous evening. His hair was cut shorter and close to his scalp, his face freshly shaved – all trace of the scruffy stubble gone, he was scrubbed and respectable, his clothes neat and clean and most probably new, a serviceable sword belted to his hip.

Quite a transformation, in fact.

My curiosity piqued, I sat up a little straighter, my shoulders back, whilst still appearing to be relaxed and comfortable in my seat, I raised my glass to my lips and took a slow drink, running my tongue over my lips after I swallowed, to moisten them.

It wasn't long before his eyes settled on me as he surveyed the room, leaning with his back against the bar, mug in hand.

I thought I saw a brief flicker of recognition on his face, though truthfully, it was hard to tell at a distance. I smiled inwardly as he approached my table.

A thing for red-heads indeed.

He stopped as he reached my table and smiled in polite greeting.

"May I join you?" he inquired.

I gestured towards the empty chair opposite mine.

"Be my guest."

He slid into the seat with an easy grace, and settled with his back resting against the cushioned cloth.

He gave me a look that could only be described as appraising, his eyes seeming to drink in the sight of me, taking in my hair, my eyes, the dress, the moisture on my lips, before returning to my eyes.

He opened his mouth as if to speak, halted, hesitated, then plunged on.

"You're the lady I … um... tried to speak to last night, aren't you?"

I smiled wryly.

"I don't know about the 'lady' part, but yes, you seemed quite keen to engage me in conversation for a time, last night."

He studied his hands a moment as they rested before him on the table. They were clearly the hands of a fighter – rough, calloused and criss-crossed with scars from myriad old minor wounds. Seeing them and the balanced, self assured way he moved through the taproom as he had approached my table, I put my bet on him being a swordsman, and probably a very good one. Sell sword, soldier or whatever, the man seated before me was no stranger to battle and death, that much I was sure of.

He looked up, once again meeting my eyes. His face was serious now, almost solemn.

Up close, scrubbed and sober as he was, he was every bit as striking as his intense hazel eyes had suggested the night before. His hair was not the mousy brown I had taken it to be, but dark blonde shot through with gold. Unmarred by the scraggly beard, his features were chiselled, strong and attractive. A tiny part of me regretted my cold dismissal of him last night. A very shallow part which I quickly squashed unmercifully.

He spoke again, "I want to apologise for my behaviour. I acted like a lout, I disturbed not only your evening, but most likely everyone else's as well. I'm a fool."

I shrugged.

"Probably. It happens to us all from time to time... You should have seen the state of me when I left," I replied, my lips quirked by a wry smirk.

His face lit up with an instant grin, like a light showing suddenly at a darkened window.

"When you left? With that handsome young man you were drinking with, I suppose?"

"Crispian? Yes I left with him."

He simply raised a dark golden brow in response, his lips slipping into a knowing smirk.

"Ahaha, I know what you're thinking now," I laughed, "Oh, he is gorgeous all right, but... How should I phrase this? I'm not really... His type," I explained, realising the conclusion he had jumped to.

The man's grin widened at my comment.

"Oh dear, not passed over in favour of another lovely lady I hope... Does he prefer blondes? I find it hard to believe that he could resist your charms, whatever his preference."

I laughed, a short, harsh sound. Oh Maker, this lad really knew how to bark up the wrong tree. I decided to spell it out for him, before he embarrassed himself further.

"In manner of speaking. He certainly likes blondes. And brunettes. And red-heads. As long as they're men, he's not fussy."

His mouth formed a surprised little 'o' at that.

And then he blushed.

Blushed?

And I'd had him pegged as some kind of would-be philandering skirt chaser when I'd told him to sling his hook last night.

I disliked that I had misjudged him so badly. Usually I was shrewd judge of character, and to be so far off, even though it was merely a first impression – I did not like that one tiny bit.

Having recovered his composure a little, my new companion smiled at me.

"Well, now that I've managed to make an even bigger fool of myself, the least I can do is introduce myself like a normal, functioning member of society. I'm Alistair, a pleasure to meet you properly."

I returned his smile as he held his hand out over the table, I placed my small hand in his larger one and he shook it warmly.

I'm Keralai," I replied as he released my hand.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the table.

"I don't see any pockets on that dress," he whispered, conspiratorially, "I can't help but wonder where you could possibly be hiding that Guard badge of yours."

I leaned forward, mirroring his posture, aware also that the position showed my cleavage to excellent advantage. As I predicted, his eyes flicked down seemingly of their own accord momentarily, then quickly back up to meet my eyes.

"Trade secret. If I told you, I'm afraid I'd have to kill you," I whispered back, my face dead-pan, but allowing the warmth of laughter to shine in my eyes.

He gave me a mock salute in return.

"Yes Ma'am."

I leaned back in my chair once more, and sipped my wine, savouring the delicious flavour and enjoying the warmth of it as it slid down my throat.

Time for a change of tack.

"That was quite a discussion you were having with your, ah, compatriot. Mind if I ask what it was about?"

His face darkened at my words, bitterness painting harsh lines around his eyes and lips. Then he sighed deeply and the bitterness seemed to seep away from his features along with the air he expelled from his lungs, leaving him looking wistful and somewhat sad.

"We were close friends, you know, once. But he betrayed my trust. I... have never been able to forgive him for it," Alistair shook his head, "But he came to apologise, to explain. And I wouldn't listen. I threw it back in his face. Maybe I should have listened."

"You must have been angry with him," I commented, not really following exactly what the argument was about, but understanding the hurt of betrayal. He nodded in response.

"Furious," he added.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

"Is that why I found his battered and bloody corpse this afternoon?"

Alistair rocked back in his chair as if I had physically struck him.

"You found... he... What?"

Confusion and disbelief showed in every line of his expression, planting a seed of doubt deep inside me about my actions. But I had to see it through, I had to know for certain. The alternative was not acceptable.

I reached under the table and pulled free the manacles I had hooked under there as I had sat down earlier that evening, in preparation for this moment. Moving swiftly now, before he recovered from the shock of my accusation, I rose to stand beside Alistair, as Jacob appeared and quietly flanked him, hand ready on his sword hilt, eyes watchful. He had been moving into position whilst I had kept the man engaged in conversation.

Jacob spoke quietly but his tone was authoritative nonetheless, "I suggest you come quietly Ser. You're being put under arrest under suspicion of murder, don't make matters any worse by resisting."

Alistair simply sat there dumbly, not even putting up a token resistance as I snapped the manacles closed over his wrists and confiscated his sheathed blade.

Jacob and I hauled him to his feet and I shoved him toward the door, eyeing the still half full wine glass regretfully before marching him unceremoniously to the Guard House.

* * *

><p>I opened the door to the interview cell, comfortably back in my Guardsman's attire again.<p>

The room was small and sparsely turned out. The only furnishings were a wooden table, securely bolted to the floor, flanked by two stools, likewise bolted, so they could not be lifted and used as weapons. Then, there was the prisoner himself of course.

He glanced up briefly as I entered, then resumed staring at his hands as they rested on the rough wooden surface, still clad in their chains.

"I think I liked you better in the dress." his ensuing laughter was wry, bitter and forced.

He looked up again, this time, his eyes remained on me.

He was haggard. I could see his eyes were red rimmed, and his cheeks tear stained. Something in his demeanour told me that the tears he had shed were not for himself or his current situation.

I sat down on the stool opposite the one he occupied, watching him carefully, our roles reversed from the inn.

Jacob followed me into the room and closed the door behind us, then leaned against the wall beside it, a calm, solid presence.

"You understand why you're here?" I asked, my tone bland, neutral.

"Because you people seem to be under the insane impression that I killed Blake! Yes, I bloody well understand why I'm bloody well here."

"Blake?"

"Yes, the man I argued with last night, you told me you'd found him dead before you dragged me off here. What kind of game are you playing?"

"No games."

"Is it true then? Is he really gone?"

I nodded, "It's true. But then, you already knew that. Don't play dumb with me."

And whilst my tone was scornful, that seed of doubt that had taken root inside me, was slowly starting to bloom. I almost did believe it. If this was an act, the man should have been on the stage.

"Fortunately, being dumb is something I happen to be very good at, it seems. Or so Blake would tell you if... If..."

His voice dwindled away into silence, and his eyes shone with new, un-shed tears. He hung his head again, as if unwilling to allow me to see his grief, but I couldn't miss the salty drops falling unheeded into his open palms.

"So, why don't you tell me what happened last night?" I asked.

"What's to tell? You saw what happened at the inn. Blake tried to apologise for betraying me, though he didn't truly see what he did as betrayal. I got angry, said some stupid things, you popped up, I left, went back to my rooms, drank myself insensible, then woke up with a stinking hangover."

Alistair's voice sounded huskier than it had been, but it revealed no other sign of his grief.

"Did you go straight home after leaving the inn?"

"Yes, strangely enough, I was no longer in the mood for company."

"Did anyone see you? Anyone that could corroborate your version of events?"

He raised his head again, looking into my face, as if seeking something in my eyes. I knew that my face was blank and empty as a new sheet of paper, my eyes cold and distant. It was a look you perfected after a while in the Guard. He would find nothing there. His eyes narrowed and his next words were biting and sarcastic.

"You remember that bit I mentioned about not being in the mood for company? That's kind of a hint that I returned home alone. Just thought I should point that out, in case you missed it. I know how quick on the uptake you Guard monkeys normally are."

I squelched the urge to punch him and continued.

"I'll take that to mean that nobody saw you."

"With those powers of deduction, you'll have this mystery wrapped up in no time."

"Alistair, look, this isn't helping you..."

"That's Ser to you, Sergeant Worthward," he interrupted, coldly. I had given my full name and rank of course, when I had signed him into a holding cell.

"Excuse me, Ser," I amended, keeping my tone neutral and free of the irritation I felt. I suppose, I couldn't really blame him for being snippy, what with me having accused him of murdering his former friend.

"Perhaps you should tell me what happened, again. Just to ensure that I haven't missed anything."

Alistair sighed heavily, a frustrated growl in the back of his throat, but complied with my request and repeated the details of his movements whilst I listened quietly, waiting for a slip, some small change in his story to pounce on.

"... Look, you have to understand," he finished, "Blake wasn't some average citizen, the man was a Grey Warden, a highly trained fighter. He was the bloody Hero of Ferelden for Andraste's sake!"

That information surprised me enough that my eyebrows shot up in reaction, before I composed my features back to blank neutrality.

"There's no bloody way I could have taken the man in a fight, not without a mark to show for it even if I had managed to sneak up on him or something. Which is a joke in itself. There's no way I _could _get the drop on him, not with... ah... well, stealth and evasion are hardly my strong suit, but Blake? He could put most assassins to shame."

Oh ho! Alistair _was_ hiding something there. My gaze flicked to Jacob, still leaning with languid grace against the wall. He gave a barely perceptible nod. Even the new boy had spotted that hesitation and hasty amendment.

Before I could say anything further, I heard the sound of loud commotion coming from outside the closed cell door, the unmistakable ring of steel on steel, and shouts of men.

I glanced at Alistair, then up to Jacob.

"Watch him," I snapped, as I got up. Though truly, I couldn't see Alistair trying to launch a daring escape in his current state.

"Wait!" Alistair cried.

I turned to face him.

"Something is wrong," he said.

"I am aware of that," I replied, my voice tight.

"No, shush. I can feel..." his eyes widened briefly, shock warring with disbelief. Then his face hardened, steely determination written in every line. I made for the door again.

"Maker's breath!" he cried, "Don't go out there, unchain me – trust me, what is waiting out there is a lot more dangerous than murderers or criminals, you're going to need my help."

I snorted.

"I can handle myself," I retorted as I laid my hand upon the door handle. I heard Alistair groan in frustration behind me.

* * *

><p>My instincts were screaming at me. Something was very seriously wrong. I drew my sword from its sheath before turning the handle and slowly pushing the door open. I peered around the frame to try and get an idea of what was going on before I threw myself into the thick of it.<p>

I looked out onto a scene of utter chaos.

Guardsmen were engaged in a furious fight for their lives, their foes were something out of a nightmare.

I froze in horror. The memories of the Battle for Denerim flooded over me, the desperate struggle for our very existence against the Darkspawn foe that had poured through the city, butchering everything in their path without pity, without remorse, without a trace of humanity.

And here was a band of them, eight years later, throwing themselves with that same pitiless brutality at my fellows.

They were monstrous, tall forms and short, their bodies bi-pedal and man-like but their faces were utterly inhuman. Their armour and weaponry was savage and crude, spiked and mottled and blackened as the flesh they protected, but wielded with cruel efficiency and strength.

I stood there agape, my mind battling to make sense of the scene before me, but my eyes followed the ebb and flow of the fray, instincts bypassing my stunned brain and seeking an advantage. I watched as a man in Guardsman's armour hacked off the sword arm of one monster, it barely seemed to notice the horrendous injury and the other arm shot out, sinewy fingers of mottled, dark flesh closing around the poor bastard's throat. The creature's head tilted to one side, a gesture of almost human curiosity, before it's grasp tightened, the man's own fingers scrabbling uselessly as he tried to loosen it's vice grip. The thing abruptly slammed him against the wall, and I winced at the sickening crack as his body connected with solid stone. I backed slowly into the cell.

The fighting was concentrated at the far end of the corridor, where it intersected with another passageway, doors lining the walls leading into other cells.

I heard Alistair again, this time his voice raised into an urgent shout.

"Andraste's flaming tits woman! Get me a weapon, I can help you fight them!"

I hesitated the briefest of instants before deciding that the Darkspawn attacking the City Guard were a much bigger problem than my prisoner possibly escaping. And if my earlier hunch about him being a fighter proved correct, then the extra sword could help save the lives of my comrades. And, well, if worse came to worst, and all the Guards present died, and me along with them, there was no way I was leaving a human being chained up and helpless at the hands of those monsters.

I turned away from the door and threw the key to Alistair's chains to Jacob. He caught them easily, reflexes as sharp as ever.

"Release him, then help them," I ordered, pointing to Alistair and then the door in turn.

With that, I sprinted out of the door, immediately heading in the opposite direction from the fighting towards the armoury, knowing that Jacob would obey me without question.

"Sword and board if you can manage it, whatever is available if not!" Alistair called after me.

Fortunately, the Guard House was not so large and the armoury not too far off. The initial shock of the attack had worn off, and my mind was sharp and focused now, ready to stem the onslaught.

I returned under a minute later with a short sword, shield and steel breastplate in a large burlap sack.

They were standard Guard issue, but they would suffice.

Jacob was desperately battling two of the monsters that had broken through the melee, fending off their attacks with lightning fast parries of his weapon. Despite the fact that he was as fleet with a blade as he was on his feet and his opponents were obviously less skilled, I knew he couldn't hold out for long, they were simply too powerful, their strength more than human. I saw him being forced slowly back towards the wall. Before I could rush to his aid, Alistair threw himself at one of the monsters, landed on its back and held on grimly as it crashed to the floor under the sudden, unexpected weight. The chains that had bound him scant moments before were in his hands, and with a deft motion, he had wrapped a length of chain around the prone creature's throat. With a grunt of effort, he twisted hard, the muscles of his powerful shoulders bunching visibly under the cloth of his shirt. The creature's neck snapped with an audible crack. Its body twitched once then lay still.

Able to focus his attention on only one opponent, Jacob quickly despatched his foe with similar aplomb, the steel blade of his sword snaking out and plunging into the eye of the darkspawn, the metal sinking deep into the soft tissue of its brain, stopping only when it met the hard bone of its skull on the other side. Kicking the monster away and off of his weapon even as it died, Jacob stopped to assess his surroundings, looking around for further danger. The monster collapsed to the floor unmoving, its now empty eye socket leaking dark, red blood and other, thicker things on to the flagstones.

"Weapons!" I yelled over the din still coming from the end of the corridor. Alistair turned and immediately took the sack from my hands, he gave me a fierce grin as he saw the contents.

"Oh and armour too. Sweet, I never knew you cared."

Ignoring his attempt at sardonic humour, I left Jacob to help him don the breastplate. Sliding my sword and long dagger from their sheaths on either hip, I ran to the aid of my embattled friends.

I lost all track of time as I gave my body over to the fight, allowing my finely honed instincts and training to lead the way. Seconds were replaced with the rhythm of battle, parry, swing, strike, deflect, thrust, stab, then on to the next opponent.

I yanked my blade free of a monster's torso with a grunt, its guts hanging like a string of obscene sausages from the ruin my sword had made of its belly. I watched dispassionately as it fell to its knees and then pitched face first to the cold stone floor, landing in a pool of its own blood and entrails. The smell was atrocious, the stench of abattoir, latrine and the grave combined.

Another foe loomed into view to take its place. Giving voice to my fury in a wordless, rage-filled scream, I swung my shortsword in a vicious arc, putting all my strength behind the blow. The wickedly razor sharp, ironwood blade easily parted flesh and brittle bone and the head tumbled to the floor, a moment later its body followed suit. It did not rise again.

I paused to catch my breath, drenched in sweat and blood, though I thought that little of the blood was my own. Nothing seemed to hurt in any case, though the part of my mind that was still rational despite the pandemonium knew that I couldn't be certain until the fighting was over and the rush of adrenaline faded.

Alistair intercepted another darkspawn as it started pounding towards me, coming at it from the side. Uttering a loud war cry, he crushed its skull with a single powerful blow from his borrowed shield.

I had been right about him in this one regard at least. He had not fled, he had remained and fought the darkspawn with astonishing efficiency, a constant presence in the melee wherever the fighting was the hardest, the most desperate. His courage and skill bolstered the men around him, his strength unwavering.

"That's the last of them," he stated, slinging the shield across his back, then lifting his arm to wipe the sweat from his face with his sleeve. He caught sight of his gore stained sleeve before he completed the motion, and dropped his arm to his side, grimacing, preferring to allow the salty drops to run, stinging, into his eyes.

I took a rag from the pouch on my belt and tossed it to him. He caught it and began to wipe the sweat and blood from his face, then started on his hands.

"How do you know?" I panted, when I was able to speak.

"I just know," was all he would say.

Taking another rag from my pouch, I wiped the worst of the blood and gore from my dagger and slid it home in its sheath, then repeated the action with my sword.

Jacob approached me, proffering the water skin he held in his hand. I gratefully accepted the skin, taking a long swig of the water. Though it was lukewarm and stale, it refreshed me.

A tipped a little onto my face and hands, washing away some of the filth.

"Jacob, go check for survivors," I said as I handed the skin back to him, "I've no idea how bad the fighting has been elsewhere in the building. Alistair says the creatures are all gone, but be on your guard just in case. Round everyone up that you can find, bring them here so we can try and treat any wounded and work out what the fuck just happened."

He hurried off to do as I bid, taking the water skin with him.

Maker's breath, but I was proud of him. The lad had fought like a demon himself.

"How sure are you that there are no more out there?" I asked Alistair.

"Positive. Trust me on this, if nothing else."

I nodded and sagged against the wall for a moment. The adrenaline rush of battle was draining away, leaving me feeling exhausted. My mind was slow and still disbelieving, my body ached and burned from the rigours I had subjected it to. I stretched, trying to ease the tense, knotted muscles in my back.

Pushing myself away from the wall, I turned, swaying ever so slightly with sudden weariness, looking down the corridor after Jacob, preparing myself to follow him and help look for other survivors.

Suddenly, I felt the warmth of Alistair's body behind me, as he moved up to stand close at my back. He placed his large calloused palm on my shoulder. I paused, as his voice sounded gently, softly next to my ear, his breath tickling along the side of my neck.

"I'm sorry for this," he breathed.

I furrowed my brow in confusion, my sluggish thoughts trying to make sense of this turn of events. Before I could react, I felt a flash of sudden pain at the base of my skull, the edges of my vision dimmed and I tried to turn back to face this new threat. I didn't make it very far before darkness rushed in and dragged me, still struggling, into its depths.


	3. Chapter 3

I was running, fleeing through a darkened hallway, the walls were blank and featureless, offering no hope of escape or refuge. I ran as fast as I could, my legs pumping and my lungs starting to burn as I stayed just barely ahead of the nameless horror that followed me, hunting me, chasing me as a cat chases a helpless mouse. A disembodied growl vibrated through the stone beneath my feet, I felt it from the base of my soles as it rumbled up through my body. I whimpered, a small, animal sound as fear shot adrenaline into my system, lending strength to my flagging muscles, giving me a fresh burst of speed. It didn't last. I gradually started to slow, my body unable to maintain the pace of the breakneck sprint. Tears blurred my vision as I willed myself to move faster, terror twisting my gut as I realised it was useless.

Just as I felt hot, foetid breath searing against the back of my neck, certain that at any moment I would feel the merciless talons rend my tender flesh as it sought to tear my life away from me, I woke, screaming, my terror given voice.

I came to myself slowly, fighting my way into consciousness, desperate to escape the gruesome nightmare that had plagued my unconscious mind.

Immediately I felt warm hands on my arms, stroking, soothing, and a gentle voice speaking calming words. Gradually, my mind left the fevered nightmare behind, and I could make sense of the words.

"Hush now, hush, it's okay, it was just a dream."

I fell silent abruptly and pushed away from the hands, still panicked, until my back collided with a solid stone wall.

I looked around, finally taking in my surroundings as the panic faded, leaving only a vague sense of dread and the remnants of fear.

I was sitting on a narrow bed in a clean but simply appointed room.

A table with writing implements were to my right, a large wooden trunk sat at the foot of the bed. The only other item of furniture was a simple straight-backed wooden chair, currently occupied by Alistair, placed next to the bed.

He gave me a tentative smile.

"Morning sleepyhead. That was some dream you were having."

The events preceding my descent into unconsciousness slowly swam back into focus, and a sudden white hot fury washed over me, forcing reason aside.

I flung myself at Alistair with a wild, wordless cry. The force of my lunge knocked the chair over backwards, spilling us both to the floor. I landed, straddling his chest, his arms pinned to his sides by my legs. With another cry, I began to rain blows against his face and shoulders, not even aiming in my animalistic rage, simply striking out. Ducking his head to try and avoid my fists, Alistair wriggled an arm free, grabbing both of my wrists in one hand, his fingers closing over them like a vice, holding them still with nigh inhuman strength.

While I was thus distracted, he twisted his shoulders and hips sharply, throwing my body off his. Before I could recover and renew my attack, he immediately rolled with the motion, landing atop me, with his hands pinning my wrists to the floor, his legs locked around mine, holding them firmly in place so I couldn't kick out at him. I twisted and bucked beneath him, screaming imprecations, but his hold was implacable.

Gradually, the red mist of my rage receded from my vision and I looked up at his face, reason returning.

His brow was furrowed with concern and worry, his right cheek already swelling from one of the blows I had managed to land.

When he saw the light of recognition in my eyes, he seemed to realise that he had me pinned on the floor, my wrists held fast in his hands, his legs locked around my thighs. The cold stone of the floor pressed into my bare back, which was the first indication I had that I wasn't wearing very much at all. I felt him pressed in a firm line down the front of my body, a warm counterpoint to the chill at my back. I was helpless.

Flushing suddenly with embarrassment, he scrambled to his feet, allowing me to move, and passed me a clean shirt. I slipped it on. It was one of his own, and as a result, it was enormous on me, the hem hitting my legs past mid thigh. Hugging the garment around myself, I sat back down on the bed and pulled the blanket over my legs, until my body was covered from the neck down. Uncomfortable doesn't even begin to describe how I felt at that moment. I had felt his body respond to mine as it was pressed against me, pinning me to the floor. Inexplicably, it had scared me. I hated being scared. I hated that I couldn't explain it. I was no virgin maid to shrink from a man's touch.

I throttled the small part of me that had tightened my body with excitement in response to his.

"What. The. _Fuck_. Is. Going. On?" I grated, each word bitten off and harsh with anger.

Given the choice between anger and fear, I clung gladly to anger. Its comforting warmth filled me, wrapped around me like a favourite blanket.

Alistair sighed, and righted the chair, seating himself upon it again.

"Before I start, you have to promise me something..." he said.

"Promise?" I snapped, outraged.

He held up his hands, palms out, a gesture of surrender.

"Just promise to remain calm while I explain. Believe it or not, but it's a little distracting to have a half naked woman launch herself at me and try to wring my neck. Just hear me out and promise not to try to kill me again, at least until I've finished, okay? And if you don't feel like staving my poor, misguided skull in with the chair when I'm done, you can ask me any questions you like."

I almost smiled in spite of myself.

"Very well," I said.

He rubbed his face with his hands, rough stubble making a scratching sound against the calloused skin of his palms.

"Maker, I scarce know where to start," he sighed, shaking his head.

"Try the beginning, that works for me," I retorted, sarcasm colouring my words.

"Right enough, begin at the beginning. Has a certain ring of logic to it I suppose. What with it being called the beginning and all that."

"Stop rambling and get on with it."

He acquiesced.

"I'm a Grey Warden. You likely know a bit about the order as a result of the blight eight years ago."

I nodded. In actual fact, I knew a fair bit about the order - some of that gleaned from my experiences battling the darkspawn that descended upon Denerim at the end of the Blight. It also explained how Alistair was able to tell me that there were no darkspawn left at the Guard House. But my knowledge of the order went far beyond my personal experience. I kept that to myself for now, and allowed Alistair to continue.

"Over the last six months I have been chasing down a rumour. Whispers here and there of darkspawn activity, where there should be none, due to the fact that the bloody arch demon was killed by the Wardens, the darkspawn should have retreated underground, back to the Deep Roads at the very least if not further. People died to ensure that its threat was gone from the world.

"Anyway, these whispers were never in the same place for very long, and all I found of the darkspawn was... inconclusive, stories told by frightened villagers, strange things sighted in the night by travelling merchants. Eventually, the trail led me to Denerim about two months ago... And then it went cold. No more stories, or witnesses, nothing, not a word. I've been here since then trying to pick the trail up again, get some indication as to why everything has gone quiet so suddenly.

"It seems the darkspawn have picked up on me instead, if that little display back at the Guard House is anything to go by," the last was said with a crooked half smile.

"Then they were there for you?" I asked

"Yes. One of the... Perks of being a Warden is the ability to sense the darkspawn taint. One of the downsides is that they can, to a degree, sense me too."

"Of course. That's how you knew they were all dead."

He nodded, yes.

"That doesn't really explain why you cracked me on the head and dragged me back here, however," I pointed out, my voice arch.

Alistair shifted in his seat, looking uncomfortable.

"In a way, it does.

"I couldn't afford for you to lock me back up – that would have brought more of them down on your heads sooner or later. I knew you wouldn't just let me walk out of there either, not when you thought I'd killed Blake, and I didn't know what else to do. If I'd just left you there and tried to slip away, you'd have tried to stop me, or follow me."

He raised a brow at me as he continued, "You have a certain terrier-like stubbornness about you."

I snorted incredulous laughter at that. He had me there.

"Besides, I think I could probably use your help, if I'm honest. You handled yourself well back there. Astonishingly well. One would almost think you'd faced darkspawn before, or had training from someone that has."

His attempt at probing me for information was clumsy at best, and I deflected it easily.

"I've picked up a trick or two over the years."

It was his turn to snort his incredulity, then he changed the subject, realising that I wasn't willing to trade personal history with him.

"I believe now that the darkspawn are behind Blake's death somehow," he explained, "But leaving his corpse for the Guard to find, with the obvious finger of suspicion pointing at me... That smacks of a level of intelligence and subtlety that the they don't usually display. There's more going on here than meets the eye. To put it bluntly, I'm going to need help... And I hope, you're it."

"Oh my help now, is it?" I replied, laughing, "But that still leaves one question unanswered."

"Oh?" he cocked a brow at me.

"Indeed. Why the hell did I wake up practically naked in your bed, may I ask?"

He blushed furiously, and I suppressed my mirth, enjoying his discomfiture.

"When I got you back here, you were covered in blood – most of it darkspawn, but I had no way of knowing if you were wounded. I couldn't risk the darkspawn blood getting into your system, perhaps through an open wound and leaving you with the Taint, so... so I... bathed you."

His ears were practically glowing now.

I relented. No one who became that embarrassed at the mere talk of stripping me off to wash blood from my body could be capable of taking advantage when I was unconscious and defenseless.

Despite my initial suspicions, I was prepared to allow the doubt that had seeded in my mind to flourish. After what I witnessed back at the Guard House, I knew this man was no mere murderer.

He could easily have escaped during the melee, things were chaotic enough for that. Instead, he had stayed, probably saving Jacob's life into the bargain, by taking down that monster with nothing more than a set of chains and his bare hands.

It was foolhardy, brave and undoubtedly the act of an honourable man, to not leave an untried boy to the less-than-tender mercies of creatures straight out of the darkest legend, unarmed though Alistair had been.

I was prepared to admit to admiration of the man. I wasn't too proud for that. What I was not so keen to admit to – even to myself – was being thoroughly and utterly confused and no small part fearful (an emotion which, as I have mentioned, does not sit well with me at the best of times).

What had started out as a routine investigation into a murder – an unpleasant but still fairly mundane aspect of my life in Denerim – had turned into an excerpt from some crazy tale of darkspawn conspiracies and death.

"Oh Maker," I groaned aloud, giving voice to my confusion, "I have so many questions, I don't even know where to start."

Alistair chuckled at my consternation.

The bastard.

"Well that makes two of us."

The discussion began in earnest.

"What makes you think I can be of help to you against darkspawn?" I asked, genuinely curious.

Alistair considered for a moment before answering me.

"I've never seen a civilian show so little fear when faced with them. Especially given the fact that they appeared seemingly out of nowhere. You just charged in and dealt with them, it was uncanny. And the way you fight, Maker's breath woman, it's like you were dancing with them," he said.

"Or dancing rings around them, to be precise," he amended, with a wolfish grin.

"I'm hardly a civilian," I interjected.

"Come now, hauling in murderers and thieves hardly compares with taking on a band of darkspawn," he countered, sardonically.

I shrugged, conceding the point.

"Look, I know this is... Weird, to say the least and I've literally just dragged you into this. I know its not fair and that I shouldn't be asking for your help after... Well, after bashing you on the head and spiriting you away into the night like that," he said, looking decidedly sheepish as he got to the part about bashing me on the head.

"But I need you. I need someone to watch my back, now more than ever after Blake and then the Guard House. Whatever is happening is bad. Worse than I could have anticipated."

I sagged back against the wall, thinking hard, struggling to decide on the best course of action. I realised that I was plucking absently at the blanket that was still spread across my legs and forced myself to stop, smoothing the material back into place.

I had joined the Guard and taken the oath because I wanted to help people. Eight years ago I had helped evacuate the citizenry to safety as best I could, then returned to join the allied forces facing the darkspawn at the battle for Denerim because I could not stand aside and allow the Blight to spread its evil over Ferelden. I felt it my duty to protect those unable to protect themselves from the vagaries of those that would exploit them or seek to cause harm for their own personal gain. I wholeheartedly believed that it was the role of the strong to protect the weak. Those were the values my aunt and uncle had raised me with. That was the moral code my father had reinforced during his sporadic visits. I felt loyalty to my brothers and sisters in the Guard, but seeking out criminals so they would face justice was one thing, the darkspawn were a much greater evil. They could not be reasoned with, could not be punished for their crimes, could not be rehabilitated. The only justice they understood was cold, hard steel.

So really, what choice was there for me but to see this through?

Though I was not yet ready to trust Alistair, not fully, I had to help him.

"Very well," I said, "I will aid you. I cannot in good conscience do otherwise."

Alistair grinned widely at me.

I held up my hand, forestalling any comment from him.

"But know this, I will be wary, and I will be watching you. My trust is not so easily earned. I only have your word to go on, and by the Maker, your word had better be as good as you think it is or you will not like the consequences." It was the best I could do, though I felt the threat of my words was somewhat belied by the fact I was sitting under a blanket in a hand-me-down shirt with a serious headache brewing.

Alistair appeared surprised that I should doubt him.

"You don't believe I'm a Warden?"

For the love of the Maker, could he really be that naïve? Apparently so.

"I believe that right enough. Your performance at the Guard House was evidence enough," I sighed, exasperated.

"Look, can you not just be satisfied that I have agreed to help, and leave the rest be for now?"

He bowed his head, chastened.

"You're right, I'm being ungrateful."

Straightening he met my eyes and I watched as his hardened with purpose and determination.

"Thank you Keralai, for aiding me. Maker knows, it's probably more than I would have done, were our roles reversed. I will do what I can to earn your trust. For now, you have my gratitude."

I sorely doubted that he would not have done the same in my place. He didn't strike me as the type to refuse a damsel in distress.

I smiled and shook my head, attempting to dispel the sudden image that popped unbidden into my mind of Alistair as a helpless damsel.

A gesture then, to show my willingness to accept his word thus far and to work alongside him. I held out my hand to him, palm open. Alistair regarded my hand for a brief moment, then reached out and clasped it in his own and shook it, his eyes warming as he smiled.

"Just don't make me regret it," I admonished.

* * *

><p>Alistair slipped out to retrieve some supplies, the fact that I desperately needed some clothes lent urgency to the errand. My own were torn, stained with sweat and liberally spattered with blood and gore. In short, good for nothing beyond burning.<p>

Alistair had painstakingly cleaned my armour and weapons whilst I languished in unconsciousness, so they, at least, were serviceable. My head still ached from his little 'love tap', so he hoped to bring me something to take the edge off.

I used his absence to train, primarily to discover how much the rigours through which I had put my body the previous day had sapped my strength and endurance.

My father had taught me much of the fighting forms used by the elves of old. They encouraged balance, both physical and mental, flexibility and discipline. They were also an excellent way of overcoming my size disadvantage. The forms had been developed by a race that was usually smaller in stature than most of their enemies, so they relied on technique, dexterity, and speed to overcome, rather than simple brute force.

The forms were various and myriad. They honed my skills in both hand to hand combat and blade work. I started with a basic kata, which consisted of mostly blocking and defensive manoeuvres with the bare hands. As my body performed the motions, I felt my muscles begin to warm with the exercise, my body becoming more limber.

I finished with a bow, bending from the waist, my palms pressed together as if in prayer. Retrieving my sword and dagger, I continued with one of the more advanced forms. My mind was focused on the movements of my body, yet I was still completely aware of my surroundings, all the sights and sounds of the room. I altered the manoeuvres of this kata somewhat, to account for the limited space available to me. That was the beauty of the forms, my father had always told me. They were flexible and could be adapted and altered to suit a given situation, once one was familiar and proficient enough with them to improvise. A warrior is always flexible, he had told me on many occasions whilst we were camping in the wilderness, hunting and gathering to feed ourselves and training our bodies and minds in the art of combat. That flexibility could save his or her life.

My sword swept up as if to deflect a high-aimed blow, and my dagger stabbed upward, coming in from a low angle, a movement designed to take advantage of an enemy that had committed itself to an attack and come in under their guard with a quick stab to their vitals. It was unlikely to kill an enemy quickly, but would be a painfully debilitating, crippling and eventually fatal wound – causing damage to internal organs and internal bleeding

It was, however, also liable to leave me open to counterstrike if I was not careful. One had to ensure they quickly recovered their sword arm from the deflection move, in order to be ready to counter another attack, lest the thrust with the dagger prove unsuccessful.

I growled in annoyance as my dagger caught in the hem of the voluminous borrowed shirt., tearing the cloth. I quickly removed the offending garment and tossed it on the bed so I could continue unimpeded.

I performed a disembowelling thrust, my dagger stabbing out behind me at an imaginary opponent seeking to come at my apparently unguarded back, I twisted the blade and swept it outward, imagining the blade plunging into flesh, then twisting and tearing through skin, widening the wound, seeking to cause as much damage as possible with economy of movement. Spinning lightly on my feet, I performed another parry and counter thrust, before twisting back to face the door and the next foe, one foot a little in front of the other, knees slightly bent and weight evenly distributed, my weapons raised and poised to strike. The door swung suddenly open, I danced back away from the entrance, putting distance between myself and my potential foe almost without thinking.

Alistair stood, his broad shoulders almost filling the narrow frame entirely, his eyes taking in the scene, his face falling into lines of utter shock at the sight me standing in the middle of the room in my undies, weapons at the ready, breathing hard and sweating freely from my exertions. I quickly placed my weapons on the small writing table and hastily pulled the shirt back on, hiding my curves beneath the shapeless cloth.

"Um, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt. I mean, I had no idea that you were, uh, in a state of undress," he stammered.

I shook my head, trying to bring my breathing back under control.

"It's not your fault. I was so engrossed with practising that I didn't notice the time passing," I said, as he entered the room.

I plucked at the tear in the hem of the shirt, where my dagger had snagged the material.

"Sorry," I muttered, "I think I've ruined your shirt."

Alistair laughed softly, smiling at my chagrin.

"I think a ripped hem is the least of my worries."

He hefted the pack that was strapped to his shoulders, setting it at his feet so he could rummage through the contents.

He held a small bundle out to me, which I accepted gratefully.

"I picked up some clothes for you, of course. There's also a blanket and some soap. I even managed to remember to buy a brush for you," he told me, gesturing towards my hair.

"I thought you might want to freshen up a bit."

I nodded. Alistair had washed the worst of it from my body, but my hair was still matted with filth, the sweat from my recent exertions plastering it to my scalp. I relished the thought of scrubbing it clean.

Alistair directed me towards the kitchen, where apparently, there was a hand pump and basin I could use. I didn't even care that the water would be ice-cold. I excused myself as quickly as I could, and clutching my bundle, I made my way to the kitchen.

I managed a decent enough wash, using a spare rag dishcloth to moisten myself and then working the soap into a lather and slathering it liberally over my skin. Though Alistair had indeed gotten rid of the worst of the darkspawn blood from the battle, it was still good to feel thoroughly clean. I dumped a bucket of cold water over my head, dousing my hair, wincing as it sloshed over the tender skin of the bump near the base of my skull.

It was a good job I had such a thick head, I thought to myself ruefully as I worked the soap into my hair, washing it twice to ensure it was clean, using the bucket to pour cold water over myself and rinse the soap out, I watched the dirty water run into the grate in the middle of the floor and drain away.

Finally clean and feeling much more human, I wrapped the blanket around myself as a makeshift towel and turned to inspect the clothes he had bought for me.

I arched a brow in surprise. He had shown remarkably good taste. He'd even thought of underwear, I observed, though I blushed when I realised he'd had ample opportunity to gauge my measurements when he bathed me.

Selecting a dark, burgundy red tunic and dark charcoal grey trousers, I tried them on.

The cloth was soft against my skin, the garments simply cut but well made, as I preferred. Everything fit well enough (even the underwear), though the tunic was a little tighter across the bust, the trousers a little more snug across my buttocks than I usually wore.

He had either underestimated my curves, or more likely, hadn't looked too closely out of sheer embarrassment. Shrugging, I folded the rest of the clothes back into a neat pile. I regarded the last garment with a snort of laughter. A dress. How terribly optimistic of him.

I ran the brush through my blessedly clean hair and started back towards the bedroom.

Alistair was sitting cross legged on the narrow bed, a small, leather bound book held open in his hands. His brow was furrowed with concentration, smoothing as he diverted his attention from the text to greet me as I re-entered the room, smiling a welcome.

"Thank you for these," I said, indicating my new attire.

"Don't mention it. Really it's the least I could do," he replied.

"You look lovely," he added, with an appreciative glance as his eyes followed my gesture.

I brushed aside the compliment by ignoring it and perched on the chair by the bed, still feeling a little uncomfortable.

Alistair pulled another item from his pack and held it towards me.

"It's a poultice," Glimpsing my look of perplexity, he clarified, "For the bump on the noggin."

When I made no move to take the item from him, he lowered his hand again, the poultice still clutched in it.

"Come here and I'll apply it for you," he said, beckoning me closer.

I sat gingerly on the edge of the bed, my back to him. I felt the mattress shift as Alistair adjusted his position, closing some of the distance between us. I felt his legs press against my back as he settled himself, still cross-legged, behind me.

His hands, though roughened from hard use and accustomed to wielding weapons, were surprisingly gentle as they parted my damp hair and carefully pressed the poultice to the back of my head. I slowly relaxed and released a breath I didn't realise I'd been holding with a sigh, as I felt the herbal compress take effect. It felt moist and peculiarly warm against my skin, and infinitely soothing as the herbs started to take affect almost immediately, assuaging the inflamed skin. It wasn't long before the pain was gone completely.

"Better?" he asked as I turned my head towards him.

"Much, thanks," I replied with a relieved grin.

"Well, as it was my fault you were injured in the first place, it would be rather churlish of me if I didn't heal it."

"Then I am grateful for your lack of churlishness. So what happens now?" I changed the subject abruptly.

Alistair's lips twisted into a wry smirk.

"Now, we go see an old friend of mine and find out what he knows. You had best take your weapons. We shouldn't run into any trouble, but... well, better to be prepared for the worst."

There was wisdom enough in that. I strapped my sword belt around my waist, sheathing my sword and dagger as Alistair handed them to me, hilt first. I sat on the edge of the bed to don my custom made ankle sheath that would sit comfortably concealed beneath my boots. As I finished securing the last buckle, Alistair produced my small dagger and flicked his wrist, the blade spun across his knuckles with a flourish, like an illusionist with a gold sovereign coin. Grinning as the dagger landed flat across his palm, he held it out to me with a small bow. I took the weapon from his outstretched palm and suppressing a smile at his antics, I slid it home in its sheath.

He really did make it exceptionally difficult to remain wary of him.

There was an open, boyish charm about him that made me like him almost instinctively.

I glanced up at him to see that he had armed himself in a similar manner to me. I furrowed my brow, questioningly.

"I'm not as proficient as you with two blades, but I can handle them well enough. A great big kite shield is a little too conspicuous for my liking. You see plenty of people armed in Denerim, but a shield like that is a choice for a knight or Templar, not a mercenary."

I understood. Mercenaries were a common enough sight in most parts of the city and nobody would look twice at us, accoutred as we were. Knights were generally only seen on their lords' estates and the Templars stayed in the vicinity of the Chantry for the most part - either would attract far more attention on the streets than a mercenary.

Alistair slid the straps of his pack over his shoulders and just like that we were ready to go.


	4. Chapter 4

We left the small house. I took the opportunity to look around and get my bearings while Alistair secured the door. We were tucked away in a side street, adjacent to the Market district. It was not a rich area, but the cleanliness of the streets and surrounding buildings spoke of the fact that the inhabitants were largely industrious, hard working and took pride in their homes.

I had little cause in the past to visit this particular part of Denerim, barring routine patrols and the occasional domestic dispute.

Alistair led us a circuitous route in the general direction of Dockside. I fell into an easy rhythm, speeding my steps to keep pace with his long legged strides. It was not dissimilar to walking a patrol with the similarly long limbed Jacob and the small semblance to a familiar routine helped put me at my ease. We walked like that for some time, in companionable enough silence, until Alistair brought us to a halt. I was more than a little aghast at his choice of destination, this was an establishment I knew well, and not for good reasons.

"The Pearl? Your contact is in The Pearl? Have you brought us here to see a poxy whore?" I hissed at him, trying to keep my voice down in spite of my apprehension.

"In a manner of speaking," he responded, with a small smirk.

"'In a manner of speaking.' He says," I groused, biting back further imprecations.

I heaved a resigned sigh. Well, it wasn't the first time I had gone to a brothel for information. I was just surprised that Alistair had cause to. He was just so damned... naïve, it was totally unexpected.

He waggled his eyebrows at me and attempted a lecherous leer.

"Shall we?"

I ran a hand over my face and raised my eyes heavenward.

"By all means, lead on Ser."

He pushed open the door, holding it open for me to. I tried to keep my head down as I entered. I'd used some of the girls as informants on more than one occasion, but I suspected it would make life a fair bit simpler if I wasn't recognised.

Alistair waved away the hostess with an affable grin, turning on the boyish charm. She bestowed an indulgent smile of her own on him and returned to her seat and her accounts. Alistair eyed me askance. I managed – with difficulty – to keep my silence, simply raising my eyebrows at him meaningfully. In the dim lamplight, I almost missed the tell-tale flush creeping its way into his cheeks. Averting his gaze, he moved on.

We entered one of the private rooms, set aside for the more 'discerning' clientèle. You could say what you liked about The Pearl, but it was high class, for a whore house. The room was large and luxuriously turned out, several large, overstuffed armchairs arranged around a small, delicately carved table, all placed upon an extremely valuable looking antique Antivan rug. Paintings hung from the walls in gilded frames, a small fire burned merrily in the hearth, giving the room a warm, cozy feel. An enormous four-poster bed dominated the far side of the room, diaphanous silken drapes and all.

My gaze fell on the figure reclining in one of the chairs, it leaned forward, revealing finely chiselled features – refined, bordering on beautiful but still definitely masculine.

He was clad in darkly coloured silk tunic and trousers, his feet encased in very expensive looking leather boots in the Antivan style. Even seated, he had a cat-like grace to him, as if the semblance of relaxed poise could be broken at any moment by a sudden surge of motion. Everything about him was feline, watchful, right down to his blandly smiling expression.

He was undeniably handsome, his skin tanned a light golden brown and long, light blonde hair pulled back away from his features, revealing pointed ears and a tattoo which curved its sinuous way down the left side of his face, from his brow to his jaw. An elf then, though his facial tattoo was no clan marking I had ever seen.

Alistair led the way further into the room. The elf stood, and my wariness of him increased. The promise of grace that he had shown whilst seated was apparent in every gesture, every nuance of posture. He moved with impossible speed, even the seemingly innocuous action of moving from his chair to his feet was almost faster than my eye could follow and performed with an economy of motion that was uncanny. This was an extremely dangerous individual.

The elf cocked a delicate brow at me. As if he had heard my thoughts, a disarming smile spread across his handsome face. His honey coloured eyes were hard, however, and bore into mine as he spoke.

"Would you be so good as to close the door, my dear? Something tells me that our Warden here desires a private audience," his words fairly dripped with the heavy Antivan accent.

I inclined my head and moved back towards the entrance, being careful to not present my back to him. When I reached the door, I finally turned to close it, hoping there was enough space between us that he would be unable to cover the distance before I could face him again. I could almost feel his gaze roaming appreciatively over my hindquarters as I did so. Definitely much too snug across the buttocks.

When I turned back, Alistair was glaring at him. The elf winked back at the Warden and shrugged, even that mundane gesture made graceful.

"Alistair, if you and your lovely friend would take a seat, we can all get better acquainted," he drawled.

I seated myself on the opposite chair to his, as far from him as I could politely get. Alistair's brief glance was a little puzzled, as if he sensed some kind of by-play, but couldn't work out what it was about. I didn't particularly want to come out and say how thoroughly the elf unnerved me, and how dangerous I believed him to be, so I let him stew in his confusion for the time being.

"Would you care for some wine?"

The enquiry was polite enough but I shook my head, negatory. Perhaps following my lead, Alistair also declined.

"A pity. I have some excellent Antivan vintage put aside here for my visits, far superior to that Orlesian swill most of your countrymen seem content to guzzle and I do so hate to drink alone. Ah well, it cannot be helped."

I watched him lean forward and pour a generous measure from a cut crystal decanter into a matching glass, carefully following each movement. He raised the glass to his lips, sipping at the ruby liquid, his eyes watching me as closely as mine watched him.

I wasn't used to being on the receiving end of such scrutiny, though I was aware his reasons for observing me were quite different to the reasons I had for observing him.

Most people at least _attempted_ to hide the fact that they were undressing me with their eyes.

"Zevran, if you could manage to stop salivating over my companion for a moment, we should talk business," Alistair's voice broke the silence, dropping the tension level in the room by several notches.

"Besides, I think she'd probably pin you to the wall by your pointy ears if you start trying to hump her leg," he added in an undertone that was still audible to me.

Zevran's lips twitched at the corners, as if he were suppressing a smile. He obviously had good hearing too. Shifting my attention to Alistair, his sardonic smile told me that he had intended for the elf to hear his comment.

"My apologies, dear lady," Zevran said, the slightly lewd smirk on his face contradicting the words.

Still, I felt quite relieved when his focus switched to Alistair.

"I am simply unused to you being in such lovely company my friend, it caught me quite off guard."

I rolled my eyes at his comment and crossed my arms over my chest, but managed to hold my tongue.

Alistair glared at him flatly, clearly as unimpressed as I was with Zevran's honeyed words, then proceeded to get straight to business.

"I take it you've heard about the attack?"

"Oh indeed I have. A band of darkspawn assaulting the Guard House in the middle of Denerim. Most... Irregular. I would not be surprised if the whole city knows of it by now. Even for a place as jaded as Denerim, that is a remarkable occurrence," Zevran replied.

"I thought as much. Have you heard anything that might hint to what lies behind it? I can hardly imagine that a random band of darkspawn would take it upon themselves to sneak into the city and attack me of their own accord. Something must have been guiding their actions – But what?" Alistair mused.

"That is of course the, ah... killer question, my friend. If you will excuse the unfortunate phrasing."

Alistair waved Zevran's apology away, regarding the other man intently. Zevran's face was serious, contemplative, his eyes thoughtful and distant. It was completely at odds with his almost cheerful lechery of mere moments before. Curious.

I relaxed a little as their discussion continued.

"Whatever or whomever is behind this is keeping a very low profile. I've heard nothing from within the city that would indicate insurrection of this magnitude," Zevran said.

"It _can't_ be another arch-demon, not so soon after the last one was destroyed..."

The undercurrent of fear in Alistair's reply was almost palpable.

"Doubtful my friend."

Alistair nodded, the frown that creased his brow smoothing, as if merely giving voice to his fear lessened its hold over him.

"I have heard whispers of something, perhaps unrelated to your current troubles, but given the circumstances it may be too convenient a coincidence to ignore. Do you wish to hear of it?"

Alistair glanced at me and I gave a barely perceptible nod to indicate my willingness to hear what Zevran had to say.

"I've never been a great believer in coincidence. Tell us, if you will."

Zevran inclined his head graciously and told us of the 'rumour' that had reached his pointed ears.

"Dark things are stirring in the Brecilian forest once more. The Templars are mounting a force to ferret out a suspected coven of apostate blood mages. They are not entirely sure what they may find, but have received numerous reports of travellers disappearing. Entering the forest and never arriving at their intended destinations. Corpses found drained of blood, or missing limbs, or both. All very gruesome and dastardly," he quirked a brow as he continued, "As I said, I do not know if there is any link to the attack on you, though mysterious disappearances and ah, ritual dismemberment may be something to warrant the attentions of the Grey Wardens in any case, do you not agree?"

Alistair's brow furrowed, the lines etching his features becoming deeper as Zevran spoke, his face grim by the time the elf fell silent.

"This is... troubling," he agreed.

Zevran divulged further information, providing us with pointers as to where the source of the disturbances might be located. The Templars were heading for the north of the forest, not far from Dragon's Peak. There had been tales of old Tevinter ruins in the area for years, though none had managed to stumble across them yet, if indeed they actually existed. Zevran was willing to bet that whatever was stirring up trouble in the forest, the most likely hiding place would be amongst abandoned ruins.

"More likely we'll just end up thrashing around the woodlands on a wild goose chase," I grumbled.

Alistair actually stuck his tongue out at me.

"Not like I asked you to come anyway," he retorted.

"No? Really? Never mind then, it must have been someone else begging me for help..."

Alistair's tone became suddenly conciliatory.

"At least this way the darkspawn won't come looking for me in crowded areas."

That sobered me. I still didn't know the death toll from the attack on the Guard. It was a hazardous job, but I doubt many of them had darkspawn offensives in mind when they took the Oath.

I had to swallow past the sudden lump in my throat before I could continue.

"No, they'll probably jump the two of us while we're hopelessly lost in some damp corner of nowhere." My voice was harsh with an edge of anger, my usual response when faced with emotions I didn't like.

"I'm not completely bloody useless!" Alistair snapped, "I managed to pick up a thing or two when I was traipsing across Ferelden helping to raise a bloody army to fend off the bloody Blight!"

His hazel eyes blazed, and I realised with a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach that I had overstepped the mark. There was only so much second guessing a person could take.

I blew out a long breath. I am not good at eating humble pie. At all.

"I'm sorry. This is as good a lead to follow up as any and I don't have better ideas."

I laid a placatory hand on his forearm as I spoke.

"I apologise for letting my foul temper get the better of me."

His eyes softened, mollified by the sincerity of my apology.

I turned to face Zevran.

"We could probably use the help, if you're willing to come along."

I didn't much like the elf, but I couldn't deny that he would be useful. And downright fucking deadly.

Another cat-like smile curled his shapely lips.

"I think not. My days of chasing demons and darkspawn are well behind me. In truth, I have grown quite accustomed to my more... Sedentary lifestyle."

Alistair's lips quirked as he failed to suppress a knowing smirk.

Sedentary indeed.

"It doesn't get more sedentary than on your back in a whore-house," I remarked, plastering a sickly sweet smile across my own lips.

Zevran's laughter pealed through the room, genuine and unforced.

"Oh, I like her! Dear girl, I merely felt the need to indulge in a little recreational activity. You Ferelden women are always so keen to attach unnecessary strings to your dalliances, so I sought the company of women of more... negotiable affections. But the message I received from your Warden here was quite insistent that we meet as soon as was possible. That you dislike the choice of venue is no fault of mine. Is it really so bad? The wine here is excellent, the girls most ardent and it is certainly much more comfortable than most such establishments."

I couldn't fault the logic there, slightly twisted though it was. I didn't like his reference to Alistair as 'my' Warden, but I let that slide. His honesty about his intentions was refreshing, at least. He really was completely unashamed.

In an odd way it was quite appealing.

Alistair cleared his throat.

"Thank you for the information Zev, we won't keep you from your ah, recreation any longer."

The two men shook hands. I settled for waving a brief goodbye and headed for the door before Zevran could get any ideas about a more intimate farewell.

We left the brothel as quickly as we had entered. As soon as we came to the end of the street, some distance away from the building, I rounded on Alistair.

"Just how in the Fade does he know so much?" I demanded.

Alistair glanced about, ensuring we were unobserved. Despite the fact that he saw no one, he leaned in close to whisper the words into my ear, so close the warmth from his breath tickled along my earlobe

"He's Anora's spymaster, he has eyes almost everywhere. The only organisation in Ferelden that I know for sure he hasn't managed to infiltrate is the Wardens. I wouldn't be surprised if he knew about the Templars going mage hunting because one of their own number told him."

My jaw dropped at that. I'd known he was dangerous, but the Queen's own spymaster? Shit.

And Alistair knew him?

Alistair stepped back in surprise as I burst into sudden laughter.

"Oh Alistair, you have some strange friends," I said, once my laughter had subsided enough to allow me to speak.

His answering grin was tinged with chagrin.

"You have no idea..."


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N** Thank you to any that have taken the time to read this far and thanks especially for the reviews. I took some time to tidy up the previous chapters a bit. I'm actually wondering what the heck I was smoking when I proof read them. Will be looking into finding a Beta reader when I get some time. Just not enough hours in the day at the moment! Anyway, I hope you're enjoying so far.

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><p>We returned to Alistair's safe house to collect our gear, though he insisted that I leave my armour behind. I was puzzled by his vehemence and not exactly thrilled at the prospect, but he would brook no argument from me, so I eventually acquiesced.<p>

I loaded the new gear he had acquired for me into a spare pack, the clothes, travelling cloak, a couple of blankets and – perhaps wishful thinking – the soap and brush.

Alistair took care of the rest of the supplies – his own gear plus food and waterskins, his small book and a map he took from the writing desk in the bedroom.

"One stop to make before we leave the city," he told me as we left the small dwelling for the last time.

"Two," I corrected him.

"What for?" he asked.

"If you think I'm going to chase after apostates without even telling my family that I'm still alive, you have another thing coming," I told him, firmly.

"We don't have time for side-trips," he argued, "We have to get out of the city as soon as possible."

I shook my head, digging my metaphorical heels in.

"And I don't care. My aunt and uncle will have heard about the attack by now, and Jacob will have told them that I'm missing. I'm not letting them think that I'm dead or worse whilst I go off gallivanting across the countryside for Maker knows how long. It's not happening. Now if you're so concerned about saving time, you'll realise that arguing with me is futile and let me get on with this. The sooner I speak to Annie and Patrick, the sooner we'll be out of Denerim."

Alistair threw his hands in the air, admitting defeat.

"Fine, fine. Your family first, then we stop to pick up the last of our supplies, then we're gone."

I led the way towards my uncle's home, circling around the Market Square to avoid the crowds, they lived on the northern edge of the district, near the city wall.

I was gripped by sudden apprehension as we neared their home, and when I approached the door, I knocked tentatively, not my usual firm rapping.

I was unable to pinpoint the source of my apprehension, so I simply stood shifting my weight from foot to foot whilst I waited for the door to be answered, like a naughty teenager that had stayed out too late.

The front door opened, and my aunt peered out, her hair as red as my mother's had been, though touched in places with grey, her eyes as bright and green as my own, still a handsome woman despite being on the wrong side of fifty. She frowned quizzically until her eyes lighted on me. The apprehension suddenly made sense. I was worried that my aunt would give me a sound scolding for "running off with a young man, chasing adventure" as I'm sure she would put it.

She grinned broadly, shoved the door open wide and threw her arms around me in a tight hug.

"Thank the Maker you're all right my love. We've been worried sick," she said quietly as she held me close.

She stepped back from me, and ushered me towards the doorway.

"I can't stay long Annie, we have to leave shortly."

"We?" she asked.

Alistair shuffled forward, looking rather shame-faced.

"Good day to you Mistress," he said, his eyes fixed on his feet, as if afraid to look directly at Annie, "I'm a friend of Keralai's."

"And good day to you too, young man." Turning her attention back to me, Annie raised her eyebrows and gave me a pointed look

"A 'friend' is he?" she asked quietly, for my ears alone.

"Handsome company you're keeping these days..." she hesitated, "He's not like that boy Crispian is he?"

Before I could answer she sighed resignedly.

"Such a beautiful boy and all he wants is other men. Such a waste."

"Annie!" I hissed, scandalised, "No, he's not like Crispian!"

I practically squirmed. No matter how old I got, my aunt could reduce me to an awkward teen with a word and a look, if she so chose.

"Annie, he's just a friend. His sexual preferences are irrelevant!"

I could not believe I was actually having this discussion.

"I'm sorry, there's no time to explain more, but he needs my help and that help entails leaving Denerim for a while. I don't know how long we'll be gone, but I didn't want to leave without letting you know that I'm alive and in one piece. For the time being anyway."

Annie smiled gently at me and stroked my hair, her eyes a little wistful.

"I understand Sweeting. You're so like him sometimes it's uncanny. You truly are your father's daughter," she sighed, the sound as wistful as her eyes.

"Now come inside and have a cup of tea before you go like a civilised human being."

She was using a tone I knew well. It meant that I would waste more time arguing that I didn't have time for tea, than if I just went along with it, drank my damn tea and got out of there.

Annie had seated us both at the kitchen table and was in the process of fussing over us like a mother hen. Alistair and I each had a steaming mug of tea in front of us, and a plate of her home made biscuits between us.

I was absently nibbling on one while my aunt spoke, "I'm amazed you've stayed in the city as long as you have, to be honest Sweeting, I had expected you to leave us behind in search of adventure and wrongs to right long ago."

Her hand cupped my cheek and she gazed at me, as if trying to commit every detail of my face to her memory.

"I have something for you," she said, turned and hurried out of the room.

She returned after a few moments, and took my hand in her own, placing an object in my palm and closing my fingers over it.

"It was your mother's. She'd want you to have it Sweeting. Wear it with my love, and your uncle's."

I smiled back at her, my eyes feeling full suddenly, and I kept my eyes open wide to stop the tears from overflowing.

"Thank you Annie. I love you, and uncle Patrick. As soon as this is over, I'll be back and you'll be sick of the sight of me."

"Hah! I know, getting underfoot, being a nuisance. You're lucky I'm such a tolerant woman," she chided with a fond smile.

I opened my palm to inspect the object she had given me. I was surprised to see a necklace nestled there. The chain was silver, thick but intricately carved, I lifted it up for a closer look. The silver had been carved into the shape of a vine, the stem and leaves intertwined to form the chain. The craftsmanship was stunning, so detailed that it look real, as if someone had magically transformed real vines to silver.

The pendant was an equally delicate bunch of grapes, the fruit formed of a dark purple stone that I didn't recognise. The colour was something halfway between amethyst and ruby, and not quite either.

"Oh Annie," I breathed softly, "It's beautiful..."

"Here," she said, holding her hand out, "I'll put it on you love."

I handed her the gorgeous necklace, and she moved to hook it around my throat.

As her deft hands worked to secure it, she told me more.

"It was a gift from your father to your mother. He gave it to her as a token of their betrothal, to show that he was determined to wed her."

She laughed softly, "Your mum was having none of it as first you know. Oh but he had to work hard to land that girl. There. All done."

She squeezed my shoulder, then moved back round to take her place at the table again. I tucked the necklace under my tunic, and felt the weight of the pendant between my breasts. The weight of it there was somehow reassuring, as if I now carried a small piece of my family with me.

Oh Maker, but I was getting sentimental. Time to go.

I started to speak, but Annie raised her hand, forestalling my words.

"I know love, time for you to leave. Off you trot, I just need a quick word with your gentleman friend here."

"Annie..."

"Do as you're bloody told love. Sooner done, the sooner you can be off."

I shook my head and made for the door. She was right, of course. Trying to argue with my aunt was like trying debate a point with a mule. Utterly futile.

I waited outside, practically dancing with impatience now. I wasn't sure I even wanted to know what my aunt was talking about with Alistair.

Andraste's tits, I really hoped she wasn't giving him the birds and the bees lecture! It was like being fifteen all over again and bringing home my first boyfriend. And Alistair wasn't even my boyfriend! All of the humiliation and none of the fun. Bloody typical.

After what felt like an eternity, but was in actuality perhaps five minutes, Alistair emerged. He gave me a broad grin and sauntered over, whilst my aunt waved us off from the porch.

"What was that all about?" I asked once we were under way.

Alistair shook his head and smiled.

"She told me that if I let anything happen to you, she'd have my guts for garters. She went on to tell me that if I tried anything with you - 'and you know exactly what kinds of things I'm talking about young fella-me-lad,'" he imitated my aunt's stern tones perfectly, " – unless of course you wanted me to, she wouldn't just have my guts for garters, she'd string me up with them. By my, ah, man-parts. I'm pretty sure she was serious too. For all the kindly aunty act, she's a bloody scary woman. I think I'd rather get between a bear and her cub than get on the wrong side of your aunt."

I couldn't help it, I giggled. Alistair stared at me in shock.

"Did you really just giggle at me?" he asked, in mock disbelief.

I clapped a hand over my mouth as another giggle bubbled past my lips. I tried to compose my features, taking a deep breath to stem the tide.

"No..." I replied, failing to keep a straight face.

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><p>We circled the warehouse, approaching from a small alleyway along the side of the large building.<p>

Alistair led me to a small door, a side entrance. It looked unremarkable, just a simple wooden door in an unremarkable warehouse in the Market District.

Alistair fished a key from the pouch on his belt and inserted it into the lock, muttering words under his breath as he turned it. My hair stood on end as I felt magic briefly stir the air, goosebumps marching down my arms. The lock clicked audibly. Alistair opened the door and with a flourish beckoned me to follow him inside. The sensation of magic in the air had disappeared as swiftly as it had come.

With narrowed eyes, I followed, preparing myself for some unpleasant new twist. After all, what good could possibly be waiting for us behind a door locked with magic?

Cynical? Me? Most definitely.

As if to prove me wrong and make me feel a little silly for being overly suspicious, the room that lay beyond the door was... ordinary. Just a plain and ordinary storage room, boxes and crates stacked in an orderly fashion around the walls.

Alistair helped himself to a few items from various crates, then headed straight for the back wall, opposite the entrance.

With a grunt and a heave he shifted a large cabinet aside. It must have been empty, I reasoned. The thing was man height and two feet deep, I doubted even Alistair could have moved it, had it been full. Surely.

I stepped closer to peer around Alistair's side. He stood in front of what looked like a small hidden door, in the wall directly behind where the cabinet had been standing, except it didn't have any handles, just a metal plate where a handle would normally have been. I peered a little closer – the metal plate had five small, concave dents. I frowned, puzzled. Alistair turned to give me a lopsided grin then reached out with his right hand, splaying his fingers so they each nestled in one of the small dents. He muttered more words under his breath, I'm sure I caught something about "Brothers and sisters" but the rest of the words were too quiet for me to make out. I felt the same flutter of magic disturb the air again then the door swung slowly back, allowing entry.

I blew out a short breath, steeling myself before following his broad back into the next room.

As soon as I was over the threshold, I froze, my mouth agape.

Stands of armour of all kinds, on dummies lined shoulder to shoulder against the walls, along with rack upon rack of weapons. Blades long and short from daggers to the largest longsword I had ever laid eyes on, which surely must have been designed for a giant. The thing was taller than I!

As well as swords there were warhammers, flails, morningstars, axes, bows long and short, crossbows and more besides. In short, just about any weapon I could name. And I could name quite a few. It wasn't just the sheer quantity and variety of arms and armour on display that was astonishing, the quality and craftsmanship and materials were beyond compare. Dwarven silverite mail, dragonbone plate, ironwood swords, sylvanwood bows. I turned a slow circle, drinking in the sight of this treasure trove.

"Welcome to the Grey Warden's Vault," Alistair intoned with mocking solemnity.

I felt a light tap on my shoulder and turned, still somewhat dazed by the wealth surrounding me to see Alistair, a huge grin across his face at my reaction.

He said nothing, but handed me a bundle of what looked like folded leather.

I carefully took it from his hands, held it up and gently shook out the folds.

My breath caught in my throat as I realised what I held in my now trembling hands.

"Andraste's flaming fucking tits Alistair!" I swore mightily, "This is drakeskin!"

I draped the tunic over a chest and knelt to examine it more closely.

Drakeskin was renowned amongst armoursmiths.

It was light, durable, flexible, it could turn aside a blade as well as, if not better than, the finest dwarven mail and on top of all of that, it was extremely resistant to fire and pretty much water proof, meaning that if the wearer got wet, it would stay supple without having to be reworked – an unfortunate necessity with most leather. It was absolutely ideal for crafting armour for fast moving, lightly armoured fighters such as myself.

This particular specimen had been reinforced with actual drake scales around the collar bone, fanning out to the sides to form a guard over the top of the shoulders (negating the need for separate spaulders) and downwards to provide additional protection for the vulnerable chest and stomach area. Squinting closer, I could see that the scales had been cut to more managable size and cleverly hinged so that the wearer benefited from the additional protection without sacrificing manoeuvrability. My esteem for whoever had crafted this armour grew. To cut drake scales would have taken diamond or silverite edged tools – implements forged of more common metals would have only dulled against the incredibly durable scales.

My eyes round with excitement, I turned back to Alistair, clutching the tunic to my chest.

"May I?" my tone was almost pleading, like a child begging for some new toy.

"By all means," he beamed, magnanimously.

I pulled off my own tunic then and there – the drakeskin had been lined with soft cloth so it could be worn next to the skin – and pulled the armour on, lacing up the front tightly. It fit perfectly, moulding itself to my form like a second skin, the scale plates at the collar cunningly crafted to interlock around my neck, protecting me from the throat down.

Alistair silently handed me matching leggings, gloves and boots and grinned broadly at my transports of delight.

They were as finely crafted as the tunic, the leggings reinforced with tiny round scales around the groin (to protect the vital arteries there) and marching down the outside of the legs, the gloves lined with similar scales on the backs of the hands and wrists. And best of all, everything fit as if crafted from my precise measurements, specifically for me. Which, in hindsight, was pretty weird.

I took my weapons from my belt and tried a few experimental manoeuvres. There was barely any restriction whatsoever, the drakeskin allowing far more freedom of movement and was far lighter than my usual mail.

I heard a low whistle from behind me as I came to a halt, blades still raised.

"You look... Wow. Just amazing," Alistair murmured, his expression pensive. His face suddenly cleared and he matched my fierce grin with one of his own.

"So you like your new armour?" he asked.

I was agape once again, and concentrated on sheathing my weapons to cover my shock.

"Mine? This is for me? To keep? Really?"

He nodded at each of my questions in turn, his grin never fading.

I let out a whoop of laughter and threw my arms around him, hugging him.

"Best. Present. Ever," I stated emphatically, my words somewhat muffled by his chest. He returned my hug, but his arms around me were stiff and awkward as if he wasn't quite sure what to do with them.

I broke away, sensing his tentativeness, allowing him his personal space back.

"Are you sure?" I asked earnestly, "This must be worth a King's ransom..."

He waved away my protest.

"It was just sat here gathering dust, and damn me if it doesn't look made for you. Besides, I get plenty of benefit from it."

"Oh, how's that – I'm more likely to get through a fight in one piece?" I asked.

He cocked his head to one side, staring at me.

"Well, I suppose that's a plus too. But nah. It hugs your arse beautifully and that's far more important."

He ducked away the moment the words left his lips, anticipating and avoiding the backhanded blow I swung in his direction.

I made no further protest though. After all, the man who had just outfitted me in full drakeskin armour deserved some liberties.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N **A slightly slower pace to this chapter as our unlikely companions find a little time to take stock. Quite unlike myself at the moment! Updates will be slow for the time being, have an extremely busy time coming up with Christmas - I'm sure you can sympathise!

I'm sure many will recognise the name 'Barghest' from various sources. Its origin is in English folklore.

Anyhow, enough of my blathering, thanks for reading and I hope you are finding Keralai's story entertaining (and she really does feel like she's taking on a life of her own).

P.S Yay, another review! *happy dance*

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><p>The steady clop of iron-shod hooves measured our progress along the West Road.<p>

The day had remained warm and clear as we left the city and started to make our way west. The late summer sun was starting to dip towards the western horizon, casting balmy rays over the ripening fields of wheat that lined the highway at this juncture, a cooling breeze caressed my skin and set the stalks to swaying.

We had departed Denerim without incident, the guards had barely glanced at us as we strolled with studied nonchalance through the gates, armed and armoured though we were, the hood of my cloak drawn up to hide my features from my fellows.

Although, upon reflection, it made a certain kind of sense. If we had been trying to enter, we would likely have been interrogated thoroughly before being allowed to set foot on Denerim's cobbled streets. They probably didn't give a rat's arse about armed trouble makers _leaving._

After outfitting me handsomely in the finest leather armour I had ever set eyes on, Alistair had appropriated a suit of the finest dragonbone armour for himself. Like drakeskin to a leather wearer, dragonbone was used to make plate armour of unsurpassed quality, being tougher and lighter than the man-made alternatives. It still looked fairly heavy to me, but he bore it with the ease of long use – it barely seemed to impede him. No wonder that dragons were a rare sight.

He had also substituted his borrowed Guard issue shield with a much finer replacement, emblazoned with the Redcliffe insignia. Alistair told me how the Arl had presented it to him as a gift nearly nine years previous, after Alistair and his comrades had defeated an incursion of undead in the village of Redcliffe, enlisted the aid of the Circle of Magi to free the Arl's demon possessed son, and retrieved the heretofore lost Ashes of Andraste to cure the Arl of the poison which had rendered him comatose throughout all of the excitement. All of which had been done to secure the Arl's support against the encroaching Darkspawn Blight.

Quite the adventurer.

It was a simple enough ruse to pass himself off as one of the Arl's knights and he was confident that he had sufficient knowledge of the Arl and his demesne in the event that we became subject to closer scrutiny.

We had procured horses for the journey from Alistair's purse. In truth, I was starting to feel guilty about allowing him to bear the brunt of all this expense, but my more belligerent side argued that as he'd gotten me into all this, it was only right and proper.

They were fine animals, sturdy and solid. Alistair had chosen them for their stamina and placidity, they were well able to keep up the steady pace we set throughout the day without balking.

The majority of our gear was stowed in the saddle bags slung across the backs of the horses, allowing us to carry plenty of additional supplies.

My horsemanship was adequate, my father had taught me to ride when I was a girl, frequently travelling on horseback during our forays into the Wilds and the Forest. Still, I hadn't ridden for a couple of years, so I was grateful for the gentle nature of the tall, bay mare Alistair had selected for me. I was not looking forward to the aches and pains that I knew would come until my body became accustomed to riding again. A spirited mount would have only exacerbated my suffering.

Alistair seemed to be having no trouble. He must have been used to travel, as a Warden, I mused.

The afternoon wore on with little to break the silence. I was going over the days events in my head, everything had happened in such rapid succession, I had not had any chance to process it all before, but now there was ample opportunity to think and it dawned on me... the meeting with Zevran, Alistair's oblique reference to raising an army, his obvious experience with facing the darkspawn in mortal combat. I couldn't believe I had been so dense, I berated myself for a fool that I hadn't put two and two together sooner. I spurred my mount forward so I drew level with my companion.

"You're _the _Alistair, aren't you?" I asked.

"_The _Alistair?" he replied, his confusion evident.

I rolled my eyes, surely he was aware of his renown?

"You know, _the _Alistair that helped the hero of Ferelden raise an army to end the Blight. The bastard son of King Maric, that refused the crown in favour of Anora to avert civil war?"

I diplomatically omitted the part about him leaving Denerim on the eve of the final battle against the arch-demon. I wasn't completely pig-headed. Honest. I was starting to work out why he would have done such a thing in any case, based on what he had mentioned of his quarrel with his friend, Blake.

"Oh," he said, "Yes, _that _Alistair. Yep, that's me."

I snorted. "Actually, I'm more than a little annoyed with myself that I didn't figure it out earlier. See the amazing member of the Guard manage to completely ignore the evidence sitting right under her nose! Maybe we could put that on our recruitment posters."

"Anyway," I continued with a wry smile, "How many Grey Wardens named Alistair could there possibly be?"

His answering smile was absent, distracted, his hazel eyes distant, as if they were observing far-off places or long ago events. Perhaps both.

"Does this change anything?" he asked me suddenly, his face earnest.

"I don't see why it should."

"Then my royal blood doesn't bother you?" he persisted.

I gazed at him levelly.

"If you're expecting me to fall to my knees, awestruck by your high and mighty blue blood, you're about to be extremely disappointed."

He laughed aloud at that, a warm belly laugh that cleared the tension that had been building around the difficult topic I had broached with him.

"That's a relief. I don't think I could have coped with you bowing and scraping and tugging your forelock."

We continued in comfortable silence, passing farms and fields as our mounts plodded their way along the road, heading westward, away from Denerim.

Eventually we would strike out south, away from the road and toward the forest, but for now I was quite content with the easier going on the well used road way. I enjoyed the feeling of the sun's warmth against my skin and the light breeze that freshened the air and teased the auburn curls around my face.

It was a perfect day for travel, an auspicious start I noted, feeling a moment of uncharacteristic optimism as I hoped that our good fortune would persist.

Maker knew, it was a trying task that lay before us. Blood magic was extremely dangerous and unpredictable, its wielders even more so, unhinged as they so often were by the chaotic and parasitic nature of the power they commanded.

Either unhinged or possessed, abomination and apostate rolled into one. Yummy.

I shuddered involuntarily at the thought, my momentary optimism dissipating, ephemeral as morning mist.

I had only ever witnessed one demon-possessed Blood mage. He had managed to evade the influence of the Circle for some years, living as an apostate, moving from place to place, always one step ahead of the Templars, before they finally brought him to bay in Denerim.

Trapped like a rat, with no where left to run and desperate to avoid the Circle's gilded cage, the man had opened himself to the demon in a last ditch attempt to escape the Templars. The result had been catastrophic and... tragic. The abomination had killed several Templars with blood magic before they overpowered him and cut him to blood smeared ribbons. The sight still haunted my nightmares.

I couldn't help but think that the mage had only been driven to such measures by the relentless pursuit of the Templars and the threat of life in the Circle of Magi. Living under constant scrutiny as an apprentice, possible death if he failed his Harrowing. Or worse yet, being made Tranquil should the Circle deem him too unstable or weak-willed to wield his power without becoming vulnerable to possession by the creatures that lurked beyond the Veil, in the Fade.

What lengths would I have gone to, were I in his stead, to preserve my own freedom? I thanked the Maker once again, that I had not been born with such a curse hanging over me. For surely, magic was no gift.

My reverie was broken by the sound of enthusiastic barking. I glanced at Alistair – he did not seem unduly perturbed by the sound. In fact, if anything, he looked pleased to hear it. The source of the frenzied baying soon became apparent as a gigantic hound hove into view from around a turn in the road ahead of us.

"Barghest!" Alistair cried, a delighted grin brightening his features. As the animal pounded up the road towards us, he swung his leg over his horse, sliding down the side of his mount to greet the canine.

The largest Mabari I had ever clapped eyes on hurtled into Alistair and proceeded to try and drown him in soggy, doggy kisses.

I grimaced with distaste. I was definitely more of a cat person. I could not handle being slobbered over. I had enough of that sort of thing from men, without bringing dogs into the equation.

"Barghest?" I asked, recognising the name from folklore, as a deadly, ghostly hound, said to haunt desolate roadways at night and prey upon unwary travellers. The name was somewhat incongruous with the large, ecstatic animal that was currently slavering all over my travelling companion.

Alistair glanced over at me, colouring a little at my sceptical tone.

"Ah, yes. It's a long story. It was meant as a joke at first, but he seemed to quite like it so it just sort of... Stuck."

He eyed the dog suspiciously.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think he was laughing at me."

The hound's only reply was a brief whine and a tongue lolling, doggy grin.

"He certainly looks like he's laughing at you now," I muttered.

Alistair either didn't hear me, or chose to ignore the jibe as he showered the animal with scratches and hugs and fuss. The dog lapped it all up of course. Pun quite intended.

"This mutt belongs to you then?" I asked.

"He's no mutt!" Alistair protested, "He's a pure-bred Mabari war hound! Incredibly intelligent animals, fiercely loyal, they stay with the same master unto death," he explained.

"Why, this fellow alone managed to survive not only the Taint, but the battle at Ostagar too. Which is more than most managed." His expression darkened as his voice dwindled to silence.

The words hit me like a physical blow. I knew one in particular that had not survived Ostagar, and I still mourned his loss.

I stumbled over my next words, caught off guard as I was by Alistair's remark and the unexpected pangs of grief that came with it.

"I... I'm sorry. Do you think... Could I meet him?"

Alistair appeared concerned by my subdued reply. His eyes softened as they searched my face, as if he could sense the grief that I was struggling to re-bury. Thankfully, rather than try and extract an explanation from me, he brushed past it gently, diverting attention to my question.

"Of course you can meet Barghest. Here, I'll introduce you." He held his hand out to me.

I slid down from my own mount, the horse content to wander to the side of the road and crop at the grass growing along the verges. I approached Alistair and the dog, feeling vaguely apprehensive. Alistair must have sensed my apprehension, because he beckoned me closer with a reassuring smile. I hunkered down next to him, keeping Alistair's bulk between myself and the dog. He turned towards me, still smiling. Suddenly clasping my hand in his own, he guided it closer to the dog's sensitive nose to allow the animal to familiarise himself with my scent.

Though I'm sure for quite unintended reasons, the touch of his hand had the desired effect of soothing away my earlier apprehension

I tried to ignore the small flutter in the pit of my stomach as I enjoyed the sensation of Alistair's warmth and the gentle roughness of his hand against my skin, and concentrated instead on the Mabari.

Barghest snuffled at my hand with exuberant curiosity, obviously knowing what was expected of him. He finished his introduction by licking the back of my hand with a deft flick of his tongue and sitting back on his haunches, bestowing me with his canine grin.

Alistair chuckled at him.

"He likes you," he assured me, "If you scratch him just behind his ears, you'll have his undying adoration."

I complied with Alistair's words, smiling, giving Barghest a thorough scratch behind his floppy ears. He squirmed with delight at my ministrations, then rolled onto his back, displaying his belly for further attention. I laughingly obliged, giving him an enthusiastic belly rub before climbing back to my feet,

Alistair grinned as he watched me indulge Barghest and returned to his mount.

"I wish I had that effect on pretty women," he quipped with a rueful smile.

"You want me to rub your belly, Alistair?" I replied, arching a brow.

He shrugged.

"Well, maybe not my belly..." He trailed off with an impish grin.

I greeted his remark with rolled eyes, refraining from further comment.

I walked to the edge of the road, catching up the reins of my mount and scratched the long, white blaze on the horse's nose. Barghest bumped his head against my leg in farewell then padded over to wait patiently with Alistair for us to move out once more. Still smiling at the antics of the dog, I pulled myself back into the saddle and winced slightly as my aching muscles made themselves known. Gritting my teeth, I touched my heels to my mount's flanks, drawing level with Alistair as we continued on, Barghest loping alongside.

* * *

><p>The late summer sun had nearly completed its descent to the western horizon, streaking the few clouds with vibrant red and gold. The air remained pleasantly warm, stirring the leaves of the trees that now lined the roadway as the shadows lengthened behind us. The land around us became gradually less civilised, we saw fewer tilled fields by the road as the farmland became more intermittent, giving way to wilder meadows and small stands of woodland.<p>

We were passing through one such stand of coppiced oak, Alistair keeping close watch for a likely camp site.

He stopped me with a word and dismounted, leading his mount off the path into the dense shadows between the trees. I hurried to follow, reluctant to lose him in the darkness, with Barghest bringing up the rear.

Before long, I left the gloom behind as I stepped out into a small glade, still lit by the last dying rays of the sun, sheltered on all sides by oaks offering privacy and peaceful quiet, the silence broken only by the chattering of a small stream which burbled its way over rocks on the far side of the clearing. Shelter, solitude and a source of fresh water. I couldn't have chosen a better site myself.

We both tied off our horses with long leads, allowing them freedom to move about and graze. I gave them both a good rub down, speaking soft, reassuring words to them as I worked. Alistair had gathered wood for a fire and was busy laying kindling to start the blaze as I finished with the horses, his efforts somewhat hampered by Barghest's cheerful attempts to assist, carrying single twigs back in his mouth and dropping them at Alistair's feet.

Barghest ceased his activity as I approached, his head tilting in his curious, almost human manner as he watched me.

I sat cross-legged near Alistair's burgeoning camp fire, Barghest padded over and slumped down next to me, resting his great head on my thigh, his expressive brown eyes gazing up at me soulfully. I obliged his unspoken plea with some vigorous scratching behind his ears. He huffed happily and closed his eyes.

I smiled fondly, Barghest's determined, doggy charm had already won me over and the damned animal knew it.

I glanced over to see how Alistair was faring. The flames were licking eagerly, the kindling all but consumed and he was feeding some larger sticks into the fire until the blaze was well established.

He stood, dusted off his hands and stretched with unconscious, languorous grace. He slowly started to remove his armour piece by piece. I watched him, unintentionally fascinated.

He glanced over at me, catching my eyes and I looked away abruptly, feeling heat creep up my face that he had caught me staring at him and blessed the fire lit dimness for hiding my blush. I didn't know why I should have felt embarrassed, he was fully clothed in gambeson and hose beneath the armour.

I felt acutely aware of his presence as he sat down beside me on the opposite side to Barghest, who was by now snoring contentedly, his head still in my lap.

Alistair gently nudged my shoulder with his own.

"How are you doing?" he asked, solicitously.

"My arse hurts," I replied, smiling ruefully, "I suppose I'm a little out of practise with riding.

"I know what you mean," he said, stretching his long legs out in front of him with a grimace, "My muscles ache where I didn't even know I had muscles. Damn horses feel like they have razor blades for spines."

"And saddles lined with irons spikes," I lamented, morosely.

"I could offer you a massage," he said, leering salaciously.

I fixed him with a dubious stare, a smile trying to tug at the corners of my lips. Damn, but that expression looked incredibly funny on his handsome face. Unable to contain my mirth any longer, I burst into laughter.

"Go ahead." I retorted, pushing Barghest's head from my lap and rolling over onto my hip in a fluid movement, presenting my back to Alistair, determined to make him back down.

There was a moments silence from behind me, broken only by a brief whine of protest from our canine companion at having his head shoved so unceremoniously from its resting place, so I glanced back at Alistair over my shoulder, the most alluring smile I could muster curving my lips.

Alistair looked thunderstruck, his expression filled with indecision and I thought I saw a hint of something else there. Was it eagerness that flickered so briefly in his eyes?

He licked his lips and slowly let his hand fall back into his lap.

"Shit. Bluff called," he sighed.

I rolled onto my back and propped myself up on my elbows, chuckling at his discomfiture.

"It's times like this I wish I was more of a lech," he continued, grinning again, "Curse you, gentlemanly behaviour! Once again you have foiled my attempts at groping lady-bits!" He shook his fist in the air at his invisible 'foe'.

"Daft sod," I chided, softening the words with a smile.

"Guilty," he said, placing a hand over his heart.

"Just for that, you can cook dinner."

"Hah!" he exclaimed, "You're punishing yourself more than I with that plan. My cooking is bloody awful. Unless of course, you think anonymous grey sludge à la Alistair sounds appealing?"

My grimace of distaste was all the answer he needed. No, I could certainly think more appetising ideas.

"Fine," I replied, "You pitch the tents and I'll cook dinner."

"Done."

I prepared a simple stew from our supplies while Alistair set about making our small campsite inhabitable, pitching the two small, waxed canvas tents and laying a blanket and bedroll in each. His task complete, he returned to sit by my side, idly fussing over Barghest as our dinner simmered gently over the hot embers of the fire.

Taking advantage of a little time to relax, he pulled a small flask from his belt pouch and took a sip. After a small appreciative sigh, he handed it to me. I lifted it to my lips and took a small, cautious sip. The warmth of strong liquor spread over my tongue and down my throat as I swallowed.

"Why do you happen have a particularly fine brandy tucked away, when we are embarking on a journey that may well prove to be perilous to life and limb?" I asked, a slightly disapproving frown marring my features.

"We-ell," he drawled in reply, "I figured as we are still close to the city, within limits of regular patrols we can relax a little bit. Besides, Barghest is the best damn sentry I've ever had. We won't need to stay up on watch tonight."

"Weren't we safely within the walls of Denerim, in the middle of the Guard house the last time the darkspawn decided to descend on you?" I pointed out, seeing the glaring flaw in his logic immediately.

His lips quirked in a lopsided grin.

"If the darkspawn have managed to track us here and decide to descend on us again, I very much doubt a little brandy will decide the issue one way or the other."

I shrugged one shoulder, then took another, longer pull on the flask before handing it back to Alistair.

"In that case, don't mind if I do."

We passed the flask back and forth between us as we sat waiting for our dinner to cook. I leaned back against the log Alistair had pulled close to the fire for that very purpose and enjoyed the sensation of the liquor taking effect.

Alistair broke the silence in his abrupt manner.

"So I'm curious, how did you end up a Guardsman? I mean, your vocabulary actually extends beyond grunts and growls, I can't help but think you're a little over-qualified. Plus you're... Well, you know. Pretty."

I swallowed hastily to avoid spraying brandy over my companion as I started laughing.

"I can't imagine it's what your parents would have had in mind for you anyway," he went on, blithely ignoring my laughter.

I drank another taste of brandy before answering. I rarely discussed my family, Crisp was the only person besides my aunt and uncle that knew my history, or at least, what I remembered of it. I had other friends, acquaintances, but I tended to keep my cards close to my chest by instinct.

However, if Alistair and I were to travel together for weeks and possibly fight alongside one another, it was inevitable that we would seek to familiarise ourselves, get to know the person each of us trusted to guard our backs.

"I doubt my parents have much to say about it. They're dead." I said, flatly.

Alistair sputtered an apology which I checked with an upraised hand.

"Those wounds are old and long closed," I told him firmly, "There's no need to apologise.

"My mother died when I was small. My father was not around a great deal whilst I was growing up. He was... A soldier, and his duties often took him far away from me. He died at Ostagar."

Alistair's face darkened at the mention of that fateful, horrific battle.

"I was mostly raised by my aunt Annie and uncle Patrick, my mother's sister and her husband," I explained.

"What happened to your mother?" he asked.

I shrugged.

"I don't really know. I was too young to remember it. I must have been only five years old when she died. My aunt refused to speak of it when I asked her, and my uncle told me I should speak to my aunt whenever I approached him about the subject." I felt a sombre half smile tug at one corner of my mouth.

"I remember some things about her. Little things. The colour of her hair, her eyes – they were just like mine. The lullaby she used to sing to me to help me sleep." I lapsed into silence for a moment, contemplative.

"But by and large, she's a stranger to me," I finished.

A large, calloused hand patted mine, a little awkwardly, but offering simple sympathy and understanding.

"I'm sorry," Alistair said, "I don't know my mother either. She died shortly after giving birth to me.

"I had an older half sister, but they sent her away because she knew too much. The Arl had hoped to keep the truth about who fathered me a secret. Imagine the scandal if the whole court knew that King Maric has spawned a bastard by-blow on some lowly serving girl at the Arl's estate." His lips twitched, falling into hard lines, and his eyes still seemed haunted by that old wound.

"Did you ever find your sister?" I asked, hoping to distract him from dwelling on his illicit heritage.

He turned his face away from mine, staring into the dancing flames of our small fire, a melancholy frown marring his brow. I realised that I had erred. Clearly, thoughts of his sister were not a more pleasant distraction from his painful past.

"I found her all right. Although there have been times since that I wish I hadn't bothered."

"I, I shouldn't have-" I started to stammer an apology, when he cut me off suddenly.

"No! Maker's breath but I've spent long enough allowing this to fester. It will do me good to speak of it."

He took a deep, shuddering breath, visibly composing himself.

"It was during the Blight, when Blake and I were running around Ferelden trying to raise an army using the Grey Warden treaties – treaties that obliged the humans, dwarves and elves to come to our aid should the darkspawn band together under an arch-demon and attack above ground en masse, which is what we call a Blight," he explained, and I allowed the digression. Of course I knew all that. With the last Blight only eight years gone, it was very fresh in the memories of most, but if telling the story in this roundabout way - integrating Grey Warden business - helped him to speak of it, then I was not going to criticize.

"As we were the only two Grey Wardens left in Ferelden after the massacre at Ostagar, you can imagine we didn't wield a great deal of clout. Oh we were given promises of aid, but always with these blasted conditions attached to them: 'Yes we'll help you, but only after you sort out this little werewolf problem,' or, 'Oh yes indeed we dwarves will honour the treaty we signed with your Order, but you see, the treaty was signed by our king and we have this sliiiiight little teensy tiny hiccup in that we don't actually have a king at the moment, because two factions are at each other's throats over the throne,' or my personal favourite, 'Why of course we'd only be too happy to aid you, but first you have to find the legendary ashes of the prophet Andraste, and bring a pinch back to us here so we can cure our liege lord of a mystical poison administered by a renegade apostate at the order of the man who usurped the throne of Ferelden.'" He forced a dry laugh.

"Still, we did it. We did it all. Every last foolhardy bloody errand the ungrateful bastards sent us on.

"As you can imagine, we covered a lot of distance, and our travels brought us to Denerim, our nation's proud capital," he continued with a sardonic smirk.

"I had done a little quiet investigation into my mother's history over the years, and what I uncovered indicated that my sister had gone to Denerim after her hasty exit from Arl Eamon's estate at Redcliffe. So I spoke to Blake and he had no objections to a small side visit as we were running around Ferelden for all and sundry in any bloody case. So we went to see my sister, Goldanna."

He paused a moment, gazing at my face. He must have realised he was staring at me quite intently, because he coloured slightly and flicked his gaze to the dancing flames of our fire. He frowned, then looked back to my face again. I kept my expression carefully neutral, unwilling to disturb his troubled reminiscence.

"She, well, she had not had an easy life," he faltered, "She dwelled in a small hovel in the Market District, washing the laundry of her betters to scrape a living for her children. She was not happy to see me, when I introduced myself." He sighed heavily.

"She alternated between raging at me for killing our mother - though being a new-born babe at the time, I feel that's a little unfair – and raging at me for living the high life while she had to scrimp and struggle to feed her family." He shook his head, his disbelief still apparent and a bitter laugh slipped from his lips.

"The bloody high life, I tell you. Anyway, she made it perfectly clear that her only interest in me, her brother, was purely financial, and unless I was willing to put my hand in my pocket then I could make myself scarce."

I winced in sympathy. Not quite the joyous family reunion he must have hoped for.

"So I gave her what sovereigns we could spare from our funds, and made myself scarce," he finished, his face bleak.

I struggled for words, disgusted that his overture to the only living family he had would be so cruelly rebuffed.

"Oh Alistair, I don't know what to say. 'I'm sorry' seems a little trite and useless but..." I was honestly lost for words. A momentous enough occasion in itself.

A shudder passed through his body, as if he was literally shaking off the memories, the way Barghest would shake off a dousing.

"It doesn't matter now. It's done with and long past. About time I put it behind me and forgot about it. I appreciate the sympathy though," he replied, with a brave smile for my benefit.

He relaxed against the log once again, bringing the flask of brandy to his lips, perhaps to wash away his repugnance at the memory of his only encounter with his half sister.

"That was very neatly done, by the way," he said.

"What was neatly done?" I asked, confused.

"The way you managed to turn the conversation from your personal history to my own sorry saga. Don't think I missed it, or that you're off the hook that easily." he admonished, eyeing me with mild reproof.

That earned him a wan smile from me.

I stood and stretched, attempting to ease my aching muscles. The long day of travelling on top of everything else was catching up with me. Weariness suddenly threatened to overwhelm me.

"Perhaps some other time," I replied, "I'm knackered and need some sleep." With that I bade him good night, and strolled towards my tent, allowing the shadows beneath the trees to hide my grin when his muttered words reach my ears.

"Blighted bloody woman!"


End file.
